


Charm and Charmer

by Cyberra, gatekat



Series: Hunters from the Light [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Circle of Light (Transformers), First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberra/pseuds/Cyberra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knights of Light, Striker/Thorn<br/>Striker, first creation of Drift and Wing, has finally gotten his mechling upgrades and with them, his interface equipment and protocols. Now he just has to decide who will show him what that really means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Talk and Touch

Wing twitched, likely as nervous as his bonded had ever seen him, and for once Drift was very happy to be the under-qualified one. He was still struggling to grasp _why_ Striker would need any introduction, but he wasn't about to begrudge Wing this connection to their creation and the society Drift was still in many ways an outsider to.

"Relax," Drift finally sighed and stood to catch his bonded around the waist, pulling him close. "Nothing is going to go wrong, no matter who his first is. There isn't a Knight here that isn't trustworthy in that."

"I know," Wing relaxed against the strong frame at his back. "It's just am important moment for a sparkling. This is their transition to being an adult."

Drift just hummed and held him as they waited for their creation to join them in the quarters that would soon no longer belong to the three of them. After two hundred and sixty vorns, Striker would soon be assigned quarters of his own. They would once more have a spare room, at least until it came their turn to raise a Knight once more.

Striker was walking back to the quarters he shared with his creators, having just gotten his new upgrades. He could hear his creators' voices as he approached, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. He wasn't sure what all the fuss was about, but he could sense, in that way young mechs had, that there was a Talk With The Creator(s) in the offing.

Not that it was a surprise. He'd been told by Redline that Wing would explain some of the upgrades to him. But the flux of fields as he entered the central room of their quarters was kind of odd. Drift was moody at the best of times, but Wing was usually the calm one.

"Everything went well?" Wing nearly pounced on his creation verbally as soon as the door closed.

"Everything went fine," Striker replied. He flopped onto the couch, tilting his helm to regard his creators, wondering what had gotten Wing so wound up.

"Redline showed you basic maintenance?" Wing accepted being pushed into a chair by his mate.

Drift was finding this entirely too amusing as he walked towards their small kitchen.

"Yes, I got the whole maintenance lecture," was the red and white jet's reply. "The list of 'if this happens or gets damaged, see a medic immediately' is as long as my arm."

Drift's snicker was audible from where he was messing around, but both jets ignored him. Wing shifted. "Have you picked who you want, as your first?"

The red and white tilted his helm thoughtfully. "There are a few mechs around I like... And then there's Thorn." His wings shivered slightly. He'd been caught watching the black Knight more than once, admiring the other flier's wings and tall, slender frame. It hadn't been with _desire_ then, but reviewing the moments now ... it was definitely desire now.

"Not a bad choice," Drift commented as he returned with three cubes of energon, offering one to Striker before sitting next to Wing, offering a cube and snuggling with his mate in a way it soon became a tangle of white with the occasional bit of red, gold or black. "He's a pretty one too."

Striker took a sip of his cube, then made a surprised sound, looking from it to his creator and back. After a moment, he took another sip, savoring the taste. "He's got gorgeous wings." The young jet regarded his creators with amusement.

"He does," Wing agreed with a tiny shiver at his own memories. "He's skilled as well. Far older than I am."

A shiver ran through Striker at that, red and white wings fanning out. Primary red optics brightened. "Oh, is he?"

Wind nodded. "He came with the exodus. I understand he was fairly young, though he'd seen some combat."

"Mmm, close to my age then," Drift commented, as he shifted his helm to nibble one of Wing's helm flares. "Only without the mistakes."

Striker looked definitely interested. "If I have to choose just one mech, I would choose Thorn." His wings fluttered in anticipation.

Drift barked a laugh. "He's your creation all right."

Wing's wings flickered in amusement. "Nothing says you have to choose just one. If you have enough Seeker in you, it might not even be _right_ to choose just one. I'm sure you've noticed how common it is for jets to fly in trines."

"We'll have to see just how much Seeker is in me, later." Striker's optics were bright. He grinned at both of his creators as Drift snickered and Wing smiled.

"How close are you to Thorn?" Wing asked.

"I've pretty much managed to get past the 'overly formal' stage," Striker replied. "He's actually starting to behave normally around me."

"That will help," Wing nodded, then continued when Drift nudged him. "If you don't want to work at getting him in the berth this first time, you can make it a formal request. No one will deny you your choice of lovers for your first experience. Even one who's normally off limits."

Striker tilted his helm, pondering the idea. "Which way would be preferable if I want him to keep coming back for more?" His optics gleamed.

"Take your time and get into his berth on your own," Wing answered easily. "Formal requests rarely result in a second time."

Red and white wings fluttered in anticipation, primary red optics brightening. "That's what I'll do, then." The words were accompanied by a purr.

Drift continued to chuckle, entirely too amused by his creation's fixation. "Should I warn Thorn?" he nuzzled Wing.

"Won't need to," Wing trilled in amusement. "He has all the subtlety we do."

Striker mock-scowled at both of them, giving a playfully annoyed flick of his wings.

"And yet you don't deny it," Drift teased his creation. "On the up side, you won't have nearly the trouble Wing had with me in convincing him that you aren't just trying to prove a point."

An optic rim lifted at that. "I should hope not."

"Thorn doesn't have the history to think that way," Wing murmured softly, his field stretching out to wrap tightly around Drift as their bond pulsed with _support-love_. Drift had still spent many, many times longer suffering and inflicting abuse than he had in the safety of Wing's arms. "He might think you're being pushy or impatient, but nothing more."

Striker tilted his helm slightly. "I'll _try_ not to be too pushy. But no guarantees."

"You're a mechling jet and our creation," Drift snorted in good humor. "Patience is not exactly expected of you."

"It's still useful," Wing added, relaxing as Drift nuzzled him. "You _are_ aiming to become a Knight of Light. Self control is expected."

"And considering that I _am_ your creation, I would bet that patience is not one of my strong points anyway," the young jet drawled, snorting.

"Tenacity and stubbornness are, however," Drift smirked. "And an unhealthy disregard for the unimportant rules a sector wide."

"Shoo, then," Wing waggled his wings at Striker. "Go hunt down your first playmate so I can molest your creator."

"As if," Drift focused on his bonded. "I do the molesting in this home."

"Can you just keep the noise levels down? Last time you two kept me awake half the night." Striker scrammed before anything could be tossed at his head or either of them could try to swat him.

"Learn to turn your audios off!" Drift yelled the advice before the door closed.

Shaking his helm, Striker continued running until he reached the end of the corridor, just in case. Reaching the end of the corridor, he slowed to a walk, pondering where Thorn might be. One of the training rooms, the sky over the Citadel, the common room or his quarters were the obvious first places to look. He was fairly sure if he hung out long enough by his door or in the common room Thorn would come by before dark at least.

Striker's wings twitched as he pondered his options, finally deciding on the common room. Wings settling into a lazy posture on his back, he headed down to the lower levels of the Citadel, where the common room was located. Several Knights greeted him along the way, some taking time to admire his upgrades. He was nearly at his final size and look now, but more importantly, he now bore a transponder signal that marked him as upgraded enough for sensual interest. In a group as open and small as the Knights of Light, sooner or later a young mecha in the Citadel was likely to interface with most of them.

Striker fluffed his wings and armor, preening proudly as he returned the greetings. Red optics admired the other Knights' frames as they passed him; he'd seen them all his life, of course, but now he had a reason to really _look_. The new protocols made them seem like completely new mecha. Some more desirable than others, but all worth exploring once he had Thorn as his first.

Mid afternoon and the common room was moderately busy. Many Knights were early risers and had already finished their studies, katas and most of their chores, though Thorn's tall, slender black form with it's glowing red and gleaming gold highlights were not among them today.

Striker's wings drooped slightly before the young mech found a place to sit, deciding to wait. He used the time to watch the mecha he'd known from the moment he first came on line and processes the differences his new protocols created in his perception of them. The tightly bound couples, those in relationships like his creators, he could appreciate for their looks and likely skill, but inherent in the protocols was a dimming of desire towards them. It was bad for society to challenge a stable pairing or trine and the coding he got reinforced the upbringing he had.

He knew he got that lesson more than most simply because of how aggressively exclusive his creators were, and Wing's creators, while not as exclusive, didn't seem to have any interest in others. Despite the tales of Wing enjoying many berthmates before Drift, there was no doubt that it was Wing who drove the exclusive nature. Drift _liked_ it, but Wing _needed_ it.

As he considered Dart's small, sleek cycle based frame, he wondered if his coding would drive him to be exclusive like Wing was now, or if he'd remain generally unexclusive like Marwir and Tetris.

Getting himself a cube of energon, Striker settled back down, sipping at the cube and watching the other Knights. Seeing them through new optics (and with the new protocols) was making him notice things about them that he'd never noticed before. That was more than enough to occupy his thoughts for a couple of joors while he waited for Thorn to come for his evening energon.

"Hello, Striker," Thorn's warm, lilting voice drew the mechling's attention from his thoughts and to the slender black Knight as he sat down with a cube of energon. "You look _good_."

Striker actually jumped slightly, startled out of his thoughts. Seeing who it was, his optics brightened, his armor and wings puffing out in display. The jet's smile was bright and warm as he watched the other mech, admiring the black-plated frame as gold and black wings flared in response to Striker's display. "Thank you. So do you." Primary red optics gleamed with ill-concealed desire.

Thorn smiled back and settled his wings before sipping his energon. "I'm half surprised your creators have turned you loose already."

Striker snorted. "They can't keep their hands off each other. Am not looking forward to going back to their quarters later. Last night they kept me awake half the night with their antics." He shuddered at the memory. "Cannot _wait_ till I get my own quarters. Getting away from that will be a _relief_."

Thorn chuckled deep in his chest. "I'm surprised you haven't found somewhere else to recharge by now."

"After what I had to put up with last night, I plan on finding my own space very soon," Striker replied. He took a sip of his energon, his optics wandering over Thorn's black frame.

"Are you planning to make that look formal?" Thorn asked a bit stiffly.

Striker blinked at the black mech. "Pardon?"

"I'm sure you know it is your right to make a request of any Knight to be your first," Thorn explained, his wings held forcefully still. "A formal request that will not be denied."

Striker's wings pulled closer to his back. "So my creator informed me. But... I don't want to make it a formal request." Armor plates slicked down, against his frame.

Thorn almost immediately relaxed his wings and frame. "I'm ... pleased to hear that," he said quietly. "It's never as good as when mutual passion is involved."

Red and white wings slowly flared out again. Striker's easy smile reappeared. "So Wing hinted. I would prefer there to be mutual passion involved. And preferably repeat performances."

Thorn didn't hold back a light, easy laugh. "Oh, you are definitely their creation. Wing was an utter terror to calm down enough to begin training. He found pleasure _far_ too interesting for decades."

Striker laughed. "I wouldn't know how interesting it is yet. I need to experience it to know for sure." There was a purr in his voice.

"Oh, you know it's interesting," Thorn challenged. "Or you wouldn't be fixated on getting some." He leaned forward and caught Striker's chin under his finger. "But if you want to earn a place in my berth, it won't be tonight. I'm not much for trysts.

"If I have to wait, I will," the red and white replied. "As patiently as I can."

"I'll try to make the wait entertaining at least." Thorn smiled and brushed his finger along Striker's glossy white cheek. "Why me?"

Striker leaned into the touch. "You're a very handsome mech. And once you get past the formal stage, you're a very nice person to know, too." Wings twitched as the red and white searched for the words to express why he'd chosen Thorn.

"A good start," Thorn purred, pleased there was something the mechling could articulate already. "Are you aiming to move in with me?"

"I actually hadn't thought that far ahead yet," the younger jet confessed, wings twitching sheepishly.

A low, resonant chuckle of good humor greeted it. "Just understand that getting in my berth doesn't mean you are invited to move in, though I will not turn you away if you need a place to recharge while your creators are noisy. You are a pretty jet, but it takes more than looks to build a relationship on."

Striker nodded, his smile widening. "I'll remember that. Thank you."

"Now, what would you like to do this evening?" Thorn prompted, confident that Striker understood that interfacing was not on the options list.

The embarrassed twitch of the young jet's wings and the way his armor flattened hinted that he hadn't really thought of much aside from finding Thorn. "I hadn't had much in mind."

"A game of Sovereign, then?" he suggested.

Striker perked up. "Sure. I'm getting better at playing... Maybe I actually have a chance of beating you this time." He flashed his cocky smile at the black mech, who could only laugh in good humor at it. He still remembered that stage clearly and fondly.

"Come then," he stood with an easy grace that marked all full Knights. "The set is in my quarters. We can play there."

Striker's smile became a grin. Finishing his energon, he put the empty cube aside, getting to his feet and following the black mech out. It was a path he knew, though he'd never been invited inside. The Knight's Citadel was simply too small for a mecha raised there not to know where everything was.

The walk gave him a lovely opportunity to scope out the black aft and it sent all sorts of jolts of desire through his systems.

Striker's wings shivered, then he forced them to still. He did _not_ want to screw up his chances with Thorn before he could get into the dark mech's berth. Nothing was stopping him from looking, however, and he admired Thorn's aft, the smooth way he moved, as he followed behind the other jet. His traitorous processor wouldn't stop feeding him images of how smooth that aft must move when Thorn was thrusting, or the way it would rock when Thorn was taking a spike in deep.

"Like the view?" Thorn teased him as he paused outside his door to open it.

"Immensely," Striker replied after a startled moment, complete with "deer-in-the-headlights" expression. He ruffled his wings before settling them again.

A low chuckle greeted the answer as Thorn motioned Striker inside, his own dark ruby optics roving over the mechling jet with a new appreciation now that his transponder indicated he had the hardware and software upgrades for interfacing. There was no denying the young jet was attractive in all the right ways, befitting his creators and the skills the Circle of Light had worked so hard to preserve.

Yet Thorn refused to hurry this. As enticing as the idea was to simply pull the smaller jet against his frame and kiss him senseless before introducing him to all the reasons his creators were rarely quiet, Thorn wanted more than to just share pleasure with Striker. He wanted so much more.

Striker looked around curiously as he entered Thorn's quarters, his primary red optics taking in everything. Like every single Knight, it was one large room containing berth, meditation area and entertainment area. Unlike his creator's quarters, there was no hint of a kitchen, only a small energon dispenser for when he wasn't up to going to the common room. It was comfortable to the aesthetics of a jet Knight that had been in residence long enough to be thoroughly settled in. Open, bright and full of reminders of the open sky that every flier had been doubly desperate for when the city had been underground. One wing panel twitched slightly as his attention returned to his host.

With a smile Thorn motioned him to a table large enough for four near the door. "I'll get the set."

Striker nodded, approaching the table and taking a seat. He waited patiently, watching Thorn move smoothly along the wall with the door to a set of shelves. He selected an ornate box decorated to resemble Cybertron and returned to the table. At a length away, even Striker could see that it was _old_. Very well cared for, but easily pre-dating the exodus.

Primary red optics took in the box, the intricate decoration on it. It wasn't every day he got to see something that old. He waited while the pieces were unpacked and the board set up.

"A gift from my first lover. It dates back to Guardian Prime's time," Thorn said as he settled and motioned for Striker to make the first move.

Striker regarded the board for a moment, debating, before picking up a piece and making his first move. Before putting the piece down, he held it up to look at it, taking in the craftsmechship that had gone into it. "I don't think I've ever been allowed to handle anything this old before."

"I doubt anyone but Dai Atlas might have anything so old," Thorn murmured, studying the board and the move as well as his opponent. "Except the Great Swords at least. They're far older. There are reliable records from Vector Prime's era, and they were thought to be old even then."

"I heard that other triple changer, the silver and purple one, is older," Striker replied after a klik. "If any mechs in the city have anything so old, it would be Dai Atlas and Titanium." Striker waited for Thorn to make his move, eying the game pieces, trying to work out some strategy that might let him win fir a change. His optics rose briefly to the hilt rising over Thorn's helm, the hilt of the black jet's equally black Great Sword and it's glimmering ruby gem.

"Likely," Thorn agreed. "There may be a few old mecha, or those with heirlooms, but I don't know them. The city's big enough that if you don't make a point of it, I may not have heard of it."

"Not many are likely to make a point of it." Striker leaned his elbows on the table, looking at the gameboard. "Hmm..."

"Not here," Thorn nodded, his fingers gliding over his knight in a sensual series of strokes before picking up his spy and sliding it into place, ready to convert one of Striker's rookie units on his next turn.

Striker glared at the board. None of his spies were in position to block Thorn's. The young mech spent a breem scrutinizing the board before making his next move.

The Knight across from him smiled, his turbines revving slightly. Oh, this was far harder than Thorn ever anticipated. He'd known Striker would approach him eventually, and knew he wanted to be closer to the Initiate-to-be before they shared a berth. He known, had prepared himself, but already it was difficult to keep his processors on the game and not on what he wanted to do to the lively white and red mech across from him.

"Have you decided if you wish to be a Knight?" Thorn asked.

Striker nodded firmly. "Yes. I do want to be a Knight." Determination flared in his field and his optics.

"I'm sure you'll manage," Thorn said without hesitation. "You were summoned from the Circle of Swords and raised by two fine Knights. It's the best anyone ever has."

Striker smiled at the older mech. "They raised me as a Knight. I want to start my training as soon as they'll let me."

A low chuckle greeted the statement. "You can petition to be accepted as an Initiate now that you have your mechling upgrades, but I'm fairly sure Dai Atlas won't accept it until you've settled all your new protocols. That might be a vorn or twenty, if Wing was anything to go by."

Striker snorted. "Considering that I'm the creation of Wing and Drift, it might take longer than that."

Thorn could only laugh brightly, his deep ruby optics glittering. "Quite possible. I do look forward to helping you settle into them. You'll look quite fetching with a Knight's swords."

Striker's primary red optics brightened at that, his smile widening. Thorn had as much as said the red and white jet would be getting into the black Knight's berth. Just not that particular night. Now _that_ was something easier to work with. When rather than if. He could manage more patience when he knew it would be rewarded. He could also do more to entice the black Knight now that he was sure the desire to be enticed was there.

Red and white wings fluttered slightly, settling into a more relaxed posture on the young jet's back. It took Striker a moment to get his mind back to their game, looking down at the board again. He was in trouble already, and scowled.

"We can play again, unless you'd rather watch a vid," Thorn chuckled.

"One of these orns, I will win this game," the jet grumbled, glaring at the pieces. Red optics darted across the board, looking for some way to get himself out of trouble.

"Quite possible, when you've been playing as long as I have," Thorn smiled in amusement. "This doesn't come as easy as flying ... and I know you've see what practice can do there."

Striker nodded. He still got chased all over the sky by his creator and the big triple who taught precision and formation flying. The young jet considered the game board for another long moment before finally making a move.

With a thoughtful hum Thorn made a move, one that marked a change in his strategy to one of pummeling his opponent into submission and ending the game.

"What kind of vids do you enjoy watching?" the black jet asked.

Striker grumbled, glowering at the board. One day, he would win. But for now, Thorn beat him every time. "Anything but dull old histories and documentaries."

"Care to bet that I have a documentary you'd enjoy?" Dark ruby optics glittered.

Striker gave the black jet a sideways look. "Would have to be one Pit of a documentary."

Thorn simply grinned mischievously. "I happen to think so. Are you in?"

Striker flared his wings. "Let's see what's so great about this documentary of yours." From his tone, he was expecting one of the dull documentaries that would send a mech into recharge before long.

"But what do you want to bet?" Thorn chuckled. "Or do you have anything?"

"I don't have anything to bet," Striker admitted. It was on the tip of his glossa to add "except for my own virginity", but he managed to refrain from letting that escape.

"Come on then," Thorn chuckled and stood, willing to let the game be. He pinged his holovid system to cue up the vid he wanted as he motioned Striker to the couch.

Striker rose from his chair, plopping down onto the couch and stretching out his legs. He watched Thorn as the tall black mech relaxed next to him, still expecting to see something boring despite the smirk on Thorn's features.

The lights in the room shut off as the vid loaded, leaving only it, two pairs of red optics and the glowing highlights of Thorn's frame to see by.

The opening title faded into view. An pre-war Vosian frame spread out in a tempting posture with wings spread in invitation, valve bared and fingers playing lightly over his still closed spike cover.

 _Streamer's Passion_ rose to join the image along with two designations of the stars.

The red and white jet made a strange sound, staring at the screen for a moment, then turning to stare at Thorn. This was most definitely not what he had been expecting.

"It's quite educational for your knowledge level," Thorn looked back, openly smug.

Striker just stared at him for a long moment, unable to come up with a response. Then his optics reluctantly returned to the screen.

Thorn's field reached out, questioning. "I can pick something else."

By then Striker's optics were fixed on the screen, apparently unable to look away. Red and white wings were twitching slightly as Streamer's larger lover pulled him against a broad, deep purple chassis and claimed the youthful Seeker's mouth.

"Streamer knows as much as you do right now," Thorn murmured, leaning closer to Striker and brushing his field against the mechling's.

Striker's field flickered with a kind of morbid curiosity, the kind that kept a mech from looking away. One wing stretched to just brush against Thorn's, the red and white jet shifting slightly on the couch.

With a flicker of curiosity, Thorn flooded his field with what watching did for him. Intense arousal, desire, the need to touch. His wings quivered when Streamer cried out at the first stroke of strong fingers on an untouched spike.

Striker squirmed again. Seeing this through the new protocols was already making his new hardware twitch; Thorn's field was not helping. Drawing up his legs, Striker curled up slightly, trying to keep still as he continued to watch.

"I don't mind you touching yourself," Thorn purred against Striker's audio. He was enjoying the reactions from Striker at least as much as watching Streamer receive his first blow job for the hundredth time.

The red and white jet almost vibrated indecisively. Should he or shouldn't he? After a long moment, one black hand crept down toward his interface panel. His optics locked on the screen, on the expression on the small Seeker's face that he couldn't give a name to. His field locked on Thorn's, on the arousal and desire there, feeding his own. On the subtle encouragement that seemed to lick at his very frame.

Striker's fingers brushed over his interface panel, pushing it aside to reach his equipment covers. A tiny hiss escaped him as his fingertips touched the covers, albeit slightly clumsily. It still felt _good_ like nothing ever had.

The warmth of a hand came to rest just above Striker's knee. Though it didn't move, the direct link to Thorn's systems sent a heavy jolt into the young jet and made him jump slightly. He blinked at Thorn for a moment before returning his attention to the screen. One fingertip stroked across his spike cover, sending a shiver through his body.

Next to him turbines revved up. Dark ruby optics were no longer watching the vid, but focused on the tentative touches and exploration Striker was giving his new equipment.

Striker was nearly oblivious to Thorn's gaze. His own optics were still fixed on the screen, fingers exploring his own new equipment as the large purple Seeker explored Streamer's. Finally, Striker's spike cover opened and dark fingertips dipped inside to touch the tip of his spike.

The click of the latches holding it in it's housing actually startled Striker, but he was too deep in the sensation of touching his spike while _aroused_ to do anything. This was _nothing_ like the clinical exploration he'd had with Redline to confirm that it was functional and integrated into his neural net.

Striker's wings vibrated, pulling in close, then fanning out again. His ruby optics were still fixed on the screen, unable to look away, while his hand stroked along the length of his spike, sending shivers through his sensor net. After a klik or so his fans kicked on, trying to keep his systems cool. It was in vain, but he didn't know it yet and his frame didn't care in the least.

A soft, low moan escaped the black jet. His wings quivered and his fans on full. His optics were locked on Striker's movements, his field locked on Striker's emotions. It wasn't as good as touching and being touched ... he knew he couldn't do that, _shouldn't_ do that ... the why he should wait was beginning to escape him though.

Striker went from vibrating to squirming as his body reacted to the stimulus. His armor fluffed out, soft pants escaping through parted lips. The tip of his glossa darted over his lower lip plate. The jet curled in on himself slightly, his other hand sliding over his thigh and lower, toward his valve cover.

"Yesss," Thorn hissed under his breath, not even aware of it. He leaned closer, inhaling the enticing scent of lubricant and arousal heated metal. "You're beautiful."

The valve cover gave way after a couple of exploratory brushes, allowing a black digit to slip inside. Striker trembled from pedes to wingtips, involuntarily letting out a small whimpering cry as the never-before-touched sensors in his valve were stimulated for the first time. Squirming progressed to writhing, lubricants beginning to seep over the edge of Striker's valve, covering his fingers.

Thorn whimpered and shuddered. His hand crept up from Striker's knee to caress the young jet's wrist, silently asking permission to guide him.

Striker almost jumped, wide red optics fixing on Thorn. After a moment the young jet moved his leg, giving a soft whine of assent. He could feel the hot air blowing from Thorns vents, the way Thorn's red markings and optics glowed brighter.

Long, gentle fingers slowly guided Strikers fingers inward until the tips of black fingers touched the rim of that slick valve. Another soft whimper was wrung from the red and white jet, his optics dropping to watch as his hand was guided, his hips trying to squirm into the touch. Striker's plating was hot under Thorn's black palm.

"Wiggle your fingers," Thorn breathed, his entire frame trying to shake as he guided Striker's hand to roll up, stroking the exterior nodes as his fingers slid out. "Stroke what feels good."

The younger jet's fingers flexed, then wiggled. A jolt ran through Striker's body, the jet letting out a soft moan. His helm tilted back, optics going dark as he did his best to process what he was feeling. He trembling, going partially lax as he gave his lover control of his hand.

Thorn leaned against Striker, panting as he fought to control his own base urges and desires. Strong fingers guided Striker's to slide in and out, stimulating new nodes with every stroke.

Striker's helm rolled sideways, just brushing Thorn's armor, the younger mech panting heavily, moaning again. He'd already lost his ability to think, all of his attention taken up by the intense pleasure running through his sensor net. Thorn was there too, feeding off the reactions and the echo in Striker's field, his own field sharing the intensity of arousal from a system well acquainted with the pleasures.

Slowly Thorn guided Striker's fingers in and out, showing him the slide and rolling motion that would feel best. His own fingertips stroked slick nodes when they came close to pristine white coated in thick, softly purple lubricant.

Oh, he _ached_ to kneel between those spread thighs and show how much he knew about pleasuring another's frame.

Striker squirmed closer to Thorn, his hips writhing into the touches. The young jet's other hand was still working over his spike, though more slowly than he had been. Heavy, rapid pants alternated with soft mews against the black Knight's armor.

With a low whine Thorn tilted his helm and brushed his lips against Striker's, his hand never stopping their guiding thrust of Striker's fingers into the white and red jet's valve. The red and white's helm turned, his lips meeting Thorn's. Striker moaned into the kiss, hips rolling into their hands, the sleek airframe writhing against Thorn's black plating.

"You're so close," Thorn shuddered, able to _taste_ it in the younger mech's field, in the very air around them. "Relax into it. Just let it take you."

Striker's body went stiff, the young jet crying out as he overloaded. Transfluid shot from his spike, his valve tightening around their fingers as a fresh surge of lubricant spilled out. After a few long nanokliks, Striker went limp, slumping against Thorn, shivers running through his body in the aftershocks.

Thorn hummed, his field and frame screaming at him to tend to his own needs. Instead he clamped down on them hard, forcing his systems to cycle down and bleed off the building charge.

The younger jet vented heavily, his body almost completely limp. Hot air blew across Thorn's plating as the black jet patiently waited for him to recover.

It took the better part of a breem for Striker to get his bearings back. Ruby optics flickered on, then Striker slowly straightened, leaning back against the couch, his interfacing equipment still exposed and against his hands.

"Enjoy?" Thorn murmured as he slowly withdrew his hand from where it had rested on Striker's.

"That was... That was... mind-blowing," Striker finally managed, shaking his helm in an attempt to clear it. "Wow."

"Good," Thorn murmured and leaned over to kiss the side of Striker's helm. "It gets much better than that with a good lover."

The look Striker gave him was intrigued. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," he chuckled before licking his fingers clean. "If it wasn't, self-servicing would be far more popular. Not what you do when you can't get a partner."

The tilt of Striker's helm and the raised optic rim were clearly a "prove it". Red optics sparkled at Thorn, who laughed easily despite the state of his frame.

"Incorrigible imp. When we know each other well enough I'll interface with you," Thorn chuckled.

Striker's grin was bright and cheeky. He settled back down on the couch, ignoring the mess he'd left, eying the screen where Streamer now had a thick spike being thrust in and out of his valve, the shot zoomed in enough that you had to know it was two Seekers to have any shot at knowing what frametypes were involved.

"This certainly is more... interesting... than any 'documentary' I've ever seen before," the younger jet drawled, tilting his helm toward Thorn.

"I told you some were interesting," Thorn chuckled, relaxing back as his frame began to cool. "I happen to enjoy watching."

"Pardon me for not believing you... I've never seen this particular kind of documentary before." There was a laugh in Striker's voice.

"It wouldn't have been _interesting_ before today," Thorn laughed easily. "Just like your creators' noise will take on a _very_ different meaning now."

Striker rolled his optics. "Still won't be anything I'll want to hear while I'm trying to recharge. Primus on a dipstick, they never stop!"

"I know," Thorn chuckled. "I've known them both far longer than you have. They haven't changed from the first time they admitted the desire was there and interfaced."

"You don't have to listen to them while they're 'busy' in the middle of the night," Striker grumped. "Drift tells me to turn off my audials."

"Why don't you?" Thorn asked, honestly curious. "And I may not have to listen to them at night, but I have walked up on them more than once in the halls and various rooms without a berth."

Striker shrugged. "I don't like the total silence. Never have."

A nod of understanding/acceptance greeted that. "What do you do then?"

"I've tried yelling at them, but they just ignore me." Striker's wings twitched. "Or at least Drift does, anyway. I usually end up trying to drown them out with music. That's why I'm so cranky in the mornings some days."

"I knew they were loud, but that's impressive," Thorn hummed. "I really thought soundproofing was better than that."

Striker groaned. "It's worst when they leave their balcony open. I swear half the city can hear them." Red and white wings flared in irritation.

"I wouldn't be surprised if that wasn't the point on occasion," Thorn smirked. "They're both rather demonstrative when it comes to make sure everyone knows they're a couple. I'd be willing to bet you'll be the same way."

"Considering that I'm their creation, I wouldn't doubt it. However, I'm not there yet, and I would like to get some actual recharge at night."

"Well if you don't have another couch or berth to crash on, you're always welcome here," Thorn reminded him. "I would have offered long ago if I knew you had such trouble."

Striker gave the black mech an expression of pure relief. "You might find me crashing here more often than you'd probably like. Those two are insatiable. Wing I can understand, since he _is_ a jet, but Drift is just as bad."

"There are times I think Drift is a jet's spark trapped in a grounder's frame," Thorn shook his helm. "It would explain a few things, and not just his interfacing drive."

Striker snorted. "It would not surprise me." Ruby optics flicked toward the screen, examining what was happening now. The jet was privately taking notes on what looked interesting.

"What other jet-like traits have you noticed?" Thorn asked, just curious and making conversation.

"I haven't really been looking," Striker confessed. "Though I have heard there were times when he's _wanted_ to be in the air with Wing. And then I've seen him clinging to Wing for dear life when Wing flies him back up to their quarters."

"I think that wanting has more to do with hating to be left behind or left out," Thorn snickered. "He'd never make it in an airframe unless it was out of pure spite for those who say he couldn't."

Striker pondered that, then nodded. "That makes sense. Drift absolutely _hates_ being left out of anything." The young jet snickered. "And I can see him doing that, too."

"Unfortunately, I think everyone can, which is likely a key reason no one's really suggested it," Thorn smirked. "He's a stubborn glitch. A good match for Wing, really. They're almost the same spark with different backgrounds."

Striker laughed. "Drift with wings... Primus help us! Yes, he's stubborn, and they are a good match. They do have a lot in common."

"And they raised a good mech in you," Thorn trilled playfully. "There hasn't been a trial the universe threw at them that they didn't overcome, and did it well."

Striker preened for a moment, flaring his wings showily. "And what a set of contrails I have to follow in."

"That you do, between Dai Atlas, Axe, Wing and Drift," he agreed. "It's quite a legacy."

"And the pressure is going to be intense to live up to that legacy, especially once I start Knight training." Determination flickered across the red and white jet's face.

"True," Thorn acknowledged. "Training is never easy, but you have higher expectations on you because of who raised you."

"I just hope I'm able to live up to those expectations." Striker's wings quivered, his armor slicking down.

"I'm sure you will," Thorn trilled in support. "It'll be tough, but you can from the Circle of Swords. They wanted a spark worthy of being a Knight. I'm sure they got one."

Striker's wings relaxed, his armor fluffing out again. "I hope so."


	2. Passion Unleashed

The ping of Striker's comm woke him from a sound recharge sometime early in the morning.

Having been well aware of what his creators would be up to, Striker had chosen not to return to the quarters he shared with them, spending the night on Thorn's couch after cleaning up the mess he'd made. It had been the best recharge he'd had in a while.

Thorn was already gone, having early duties and chores to attend to. Striker had been quite happy to stay where he was and sleep. Until his comm pinged at him.

Primary red optics warmed up, though they remained dim. ::Mmmph,::was the first reply. ::What?::

A low, highly amused laugh came in reply before the mech on the other end spoke. ::Where'd you end up?::Wing asked teasingly.

::Thorn's couch.::Striker yawned, making sure his creator could hear. ::And you just woke me up. To the pit with you morning mechs.::

::Couch?::Drift joined in, making Striker check his chronometer. ::He left you on the _couch_?:: The white grounder sounded ticked off.

::He let me sleep here because you two are so fragging loud,::the younger jet grumbled. ::Best recharge I've had in a while.::

::So you haven't interfaced yet?::Drift didn't hide his surprise.

::Not yet. He has, however, agreed to let me court him.::Striker fanned his wings proudly, even though he knew his creators couldn't see.

::All right, I won't rip his wings off,::Drift's tone settled.

::So how was your evening, then?::Wing asked.

::It was definitely interesting.::Striker chuckled. ::And he beat me at Sovereign again... I thought I was getting better at that game.::

::You are, but he's still nearly twice _my_ age,::Wing pointed out. ::He's been playing forever. Just be grateful he's not Praxian. They come with tactical computers by default.::

Striker shuddered at the thought. ::Maybe he can give me some tips, then.::The young jet settled down, stretching from helm to pedes before curling up into a winged ball. ::And we watched a vid together.::

::One of your actions vids?::Wing asked teasingly.

::It was... a documentary,::Striker replied, the tone of his voice indicating just what kind of "documentary" he was actually referring to. ::Was actually rather interesting.::

Drift burst out laughing while Wing sputtered a bit. ::He watched _what_ with you?::

::I liked it,::the young jet replied cheekily, glad he was well out of swatting distance of his creators. He quivered all over with suppressed mirth.

::And he _didn't_ touch you?::Wing's tone shifted slightly to concern.

::I touched myself... He guided me a bit,::Striker replied, yawning again and shutting off his optics. ::He says that after we get to know each other a bit more, then he'll let me into his berth.::

::All right,::Wing's wings could be heard to rustle. ::You can recharge on your own berth if you want. We're heading out for the day.::

::'M comfortable right here.::Striker yawned again. ::Don't wanna get up. Go away and let me sleep.::

Wing chuckled. ::He takes after you in that.::

Drift simply snorted and the line shut down, leaving the mechling in peace.

* * *

After finally waking up all the way and leaving Thorn's quarters Striker had spent a good portion of the day pondering how to go about courting the black jet. Finding himself at a bit of a loss, he decided to ask his creators if they had any tips. Wing had been helpful so far and clearly approved of Thorn. They invited him to spar with them, which meant he'd have to _work_ while he got answers.

Leaving the rec room, Striker made his way to the training room his creators were using, well aware of what was awaiting his afternoon. First, though, he got to be awed by what the two 'newest' Knights were capable of against each other.

Striker walked into the training room, making sure his swords were properly clean and sharp. He'd gotten an audio-smoking lecture the one time he'd neglected to clean them, and that was something he never wanted to go through again. It didn't matter that he didn't _use_ the blades he'd been gifted when sparring. They had to be perfect. It was simply what anyone who wished to be a Knight made sure of. You allowed your own finish to tarnish before you allowed your blades to be anything but perfect.

Finding a place to sit, he watched his creators dance with their practice blades while waiting for his turn. It was as enchanting as always. Unlike the stories of their meeting, after a full joor and some neither had a single mark on them.

Striker leaned forward as he watched, optics following every movement. He hoped he'd have that fluid grace someday, after he'd been training and practicing long enough. There were still times when sparring with his creators made him feel like a bulky cargo shuttle in the middle of a group of stunt fliers. Drift was easy to tell him it would happen, pointing out his own beginnings with the Circle of Light.

The signal to stop had to be across the bond, for it had no physical signal that Striker could pick up.

"So who are you up against first?" Drift's grin was playful ... which made it scary too.

Striker gave the white grounder a wary look. He'd learned to be wary of a playful Drift, since occasionally a playful Drift equaled Striker almost literally getting chased around the training room. "I would assume Wing, though that still depends on which of you two wants to go first."

"Sure," Wing grinned, overriding whatever his mate was going to say. "For every perfect reaction, we'll give you a piece of advice."

"Sounds fair." Striker retrieved his own practice blades, easing into the training ring and approaching Wing while Drift settled against the wall to watch, and probably critique his form.

"Form three, attack," Wing instructed, picking something easy to start with.

Striker nodded, settling into a ready stance facing the older white jet. He did his best to ignore Drift, concentrating on Wing as his creator settled into an easy defensive stance and waited for him.

The younger white and red jet took a moment to make sure he was centered as much as he could get, inhaling and then venting slowly. Then he moved, using the form Wing had instructed him to. Wing parried it easily, the pair moving in an easy flow of long familiar moves.

"What would you like to know first?" Drift asked.

"Any tips would be helpful," Striker replied. "I want to court Thorn, but I'm at a bit of a loss as to how."

"Spend as much time with him as you can manage," Drift suggested.

"Form three, attack six," Wing called out.

"And try not annoy him too badly?" Striker moved into the maneuver Wing called for, optics narrowed slightly as he concentrated on what he was doing.

"Always a plus," Drift laughed easily. "Though if you really are a good match, it won't happen often."

White and red wings fluttered. "I hope we'll be a good match." Striker parried one of Wing's swords, just dodging the other.

"We haven't seen any reason to discourage you yet," Wing said, moving in a smooth circle around his creation. "Form one," he instructed before launching an attack that could be blocked if Striker reacted correctly.

"What do you have in common?" Drift asked from the sidelines.

Striker reacted as instructed, parrying the attack. "Besides both of us being jets? We have a fair bit in common, I think."

"He's really good looking, is willing and?" Drift chuckled, entirely too familiar with the libido of a jet.

"He is quite interested." Striker's wings perked up. "He wants to take it slow, get to know me better before I get into his berth."

"I know," Wing smiled faintly before driving Striker to the edge of the platform.

"You don't think we wouldn't check out anyone you looked at more than once?" Drift chuckled. "We know exactly where he's coming from, and he knows the risks of fragging this up."

Striker would have turned to glare at Drift if it hadn't meant a swat from Wing and then getting dumped on his aft. "No threatening my black jet!"

Drift's laughter was a deep bark of true amusement. "Primus, you sounded like Wing there."

"I'm not that bad," Wing shot back.

"You made a good display of faking it."

Golden optics rolled. "That was a staged show."

"I dare you to tell me the emotions were faked," Drift shot back with a smirk.

Striker paused, looking from one to the other. "I think I'm missing something here."

"Just before I was Knighted your creator here assaulted Titanium in a public club because GoldenRod touched me," Drift snickered.

The younger jet openly gawked at Wing. "You assaulted _Titan_?" Striker had had the opportunity to witness one of the big ex-Autobot's sparring matches with Dai Atlas, and Titanium had actually won that match.

"It was a setup," Wing countered. "Drift's final trial. But yes, I did make quite a show of being overly possessive."

Well, that would explain how Wing avoided getting sliced open... Striker's thoughts ran in circles briefly before he realized he was standing there with his mouth hanging open, shutting it with a click. "The fight had been set up?"

"Yes," Wing said firmly.

"But not why they chose _that_ scenario," Drift added. "Wing may have more self-control than the fight indicated, but that's all that was off."

Striker looked from the white grounder to the white jet and back, then shook his helm. "You're both crazy."

"We're Knights," Drift shrugged. "You'll understand when you have a Great Sword of your own."

"Being a Knight means being crazy?" Striker eyed them dubiously.

"Being a Knight means you can put that story in full context," Drift corrected with a shrug. "But I've never really contested the title of crazy, and he's worse than I am."

Striker pondered that for a moment, then shook his helm again, bringing his practice swords back up into a ready stance. "I get the feeling that I'm not going to understand half of that until I am a full Knight myself."

"Probably not," Wing chuckled and flicked his sword for Striker to come at him. "Find out what he likes, but more, find out what he _needs_. Sometimes your efforts won't be appreciated at first. If it's worth it, don't give up."

Drift snorted. "Thorn's not going to be nearly as difficult as I was. Fortunately, beating him into submission isn't on the 'need to do' list for you."

The young jet flared his wings. "I don't plan on giving up. I _want_ Thorn." Striker launched himself at Wing again.

"Tenacious glitch," Drift laughed in good humor. "Oh, you'll have him. The real work is in _keeping_ him."

"Do stop winding our creation up," Wing glowered at his mate. "He needs to be _calm_ to woo Thorn."

"But it's such fun to wind him up," Drift teased, his pale blue optics glittering in amusement. "Seriously, spend time with him, ask him to teach you, and watch more of those documentary vids of his. Sooner or later his self-control will snap and he'll pin you against _something_."

Wing nearly faltered at the thought-feelings flowing through their bond.

"I'm _your_ creation; of course I inherited your tenacity," Striker shot back. " _And_ your stubbornness." He took advantage of Wing's momentary waver to swat him across the shins with his practice sword.

"And Wing's libido," Drift smirked as Wing's armor flared in shock-irritation at being marked and at his inability to _do_ anything about his mate at the moment. "Especially his libido."

"Are you sure it's not _yours_ I inherited?" Red optics slid in Drift's direction. "You're worse than he is!"

"Oh, I'm sure," Drift laughed. "I _learned_ this from him. I wasn't that keen on interfacing when I first arrived."

"That much is true," Wing grumbled. "You don't want to know what I went through to convince him to interface."

"And now that you've said that, I _do_ want to know," Striker retorted, eying his creators.

Wing huffed. "Start with beating the rivets out of him every day for over a vorn while trying to socialize the crazy former Decepticon that had _never_ known anything other than violence, might makes right and interfacing as an act of power. You'll _never_ have that much trouble with Thorn."

"And taking the penance for all the rules I broke for those first seven vorns, because he had to vouch for me," Drift added, his tone solemn on a level Striker had rarely heard. "I'm pretty sure when he wasn't working on me he was taking a punishment for me. I didn't even know about most of them until I began formal training after we returned and realized just what that vouch and the rules _are_."

"Worth it," Wing said firmly, his tone conveying just how often the subject had come up.

Striker paused, staring at them. "And now I'm really glad Thorn's already a Knight, and I'm not either of you."

"We made it work," Wing reminded him. "It was worth it. All of it. I'm glad you don't have as difficult a path."

"Thorn's a good mech, a good Knight," Drift said evenly. "If you are a good match in the long run, he'll be good to you."

"But don't get so focused on being mates that you miss out on enjoying a good time," Wing added.

"I have no doubt we'll get on each other's nerves occasionally, but we'll make it work. I know we will." Red optics flared, white and red wings fanning out. Striker brought his sword up, watching Wing. "Now, let's do this."

* * *

Thorn hummed softly to himself, a tune from his sparklinghood before he began to train in the dojo. He couldn't remember the words anymore, only the tune, but it always made him happy.

::Thorn, if you make him wait much longer, I'm going to lock you both in a closet until he's sated,::Drift's tone was warning but highly amused. ::Melting his processors is not a bad thing you know.::

::I know,::he couldn't help but laugh back before turning serious. ::I just don't want to hurt him.::

::I doubt you can,::Wing spoke up. ::Seriously, just 'face the mechling senseless. He'll still want you afterwards. You've made your point.::

::All right, all right,::Thorn consented, shaking his helm as he hovered, patching up the damage the last sandstorm did to the citadel's finish. ::If he tries tonight, I'll roll with it.::

::Good mech,::Drift said before closing the line.

It couldn't have been more than a breem later when Striker found the black jet. The white and red jet had been out flying, having just escaped one of his training sessions with Titanium. He had been content to fly and stretch his wings when the glint of black and gold caught his optic, and he spiraled down to hover near Thorn. "Hi," the younger jet greeted, easing nearer.

"Hello yourself," Thorn smiled at him, flicking his wings in greeting without shifting his balance, a trick Striker had yet to master. "Out for the day?"

"Had a session with Titan and a few other young fliers today. He finally let us go." Striker hovered closer, watching Thorn work. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he glanced at his suitor with a smile before focusing on his work enough to not mess up.

"Can you tell me what happened when Drift arrived here for the first time? What were he and Wing like?" Striker looked at Thorn hopefully. "Getting anything out of either of them without one of them getting sidetracked is... awkward."

Thorn chuckled. "I don't doubt it. They have what's call spark resonance. Wing probably recognized it when he first came in range of Drift. I doubt Drift even understood it existed. He only knew he couldn't make himself leave Wing. He ranted and snarled frequently about it, about being weak, or later on addicted. I doubt he realized anyone could hear him. I knew because I was one of the Knights assigned to keep an optic on him without him knowing it."

He paused his work for a time, trying to figure out how to explain what a Decepticon was, what Drift had been, to someone who had absolutely no reference for anything outside New Crystal City. "When Drift first came to us, he was a very angry, very hurt mecha. He'd never had the opportunity to be properly socialized. The very few mecha he'd ever come to trust ... the only mecha he trusted, who he thought might care about him, was murdered in front of him when he was quite young. The only existence he knew was one in which he had to take to survive. The only way he ever got even a little bit ahead was through extreme violence.

"Then the Decepticons found him, recruited him, and he learned that he had some power. He was well on his way to being completely insane when he crossed some line even they wouldn't tolerate. If it wasn't for the spark resonance, we would have been allowed him to fade." Thorn fell silent. "He was so angry, but it wasn't at anything. I learned much later that he'd spent nearly his entire functioning trying to get extinguished, but no one who would do it could defeat him, those few who could defeat him wouldn't extinguish him and he simply couldn't give less than his best in trying to survive."

Striker blinked his optics several times as he processed that. "Wouldn't think it now, looking at him," he finally commented thoughtfully. The look on his face and in the set of his wings announced that he was thinking about that.

"No, you wouldn't," Thorn smiled warmly. "He's come so very far in accepting himself and understanding that love and caring are not weaknesses but strengths to draw on."

"What about Wing?" Striker asked after another long, thoughtful moment. "Is he different now compared to what he was like back then?"

Thorn vented deeply. "He is much ... darker ... than he was when he first met Drift. So much happened to him. Have you read their records, their official history?"

Striker shifted slightly. "I've heard some stuff, but... I never really got around to looking." He pulled his helm down into his shoulders, looking sheepish.

"All right, here's the condensed version," Thorn steeled himself for the story. "I knew Wing as he grew up, became a Knight, found Drift and spent seven vorns converting him to something resembling a Knight Initiate. After seven vorns the Decepticons came looking for their wayward officer. In the battle Wing, the Wing I helped raise and train, was extinguished. Drift grabbed his Great Sword, already charged for a strike, and cleaved Wing's killer in two. He left us, with that Great Sword, not long afterwards."

Red optics went so wide Thorn was amazed they didn't either pop out or shatter. Striker's thrusters hiccupped, the young jet actually losing height for a moment before restarting his engines and darting back up to Thorn's level, this time latching onto the nearest ledge to keep from falling again. "He was extinguished? But... but..."

"The Wing who bonded to Drift and raised you is not the mecha I helped raise. He's not the mecha that brought Drift into the Circle. The Wing that is your creator is from another dimension, one where the Decepticons never came, where he continued to train Drift and he eventually became a Knight of Light and bonded to Wing. Vorns after that the Decepticons found that New Crystal City and razed it to dust. Wing's bonded, the Drift from that dimension, was among the dead. Surely you've noticed that there are a handful of Knights that seem to have twins, right down to their designations? Only the subtle differences tell them apart. Those, Wing and Kimark were the survivors of that dimension.

"They left their homeworld and traveled the stars as a cadre without a single Master among them," Thorn tried not to rush the story. "Somehow they came to be in our dimension and crossed paths with the Drift we know. They made their way here shortly thereafter. The cadre was integrated into the Circle of Light, Drift finished his training, bonded to Wing and eventually called your spark from the Circle of Swords."

It took the stunned young jet a breem to throw off his shock enough to respond. "I had noticed... But I never really thought anything of it. I actually thought they were the same Knight until I saw both of them together." Striker clung to the ledge, simultaneously trying to keep from dropping out of the air in shock and keep from creating any extra damage for Thorn to fix.

The black jet subspaced his paint and tools and offered a hand to Striker. "Both your creators went through more than I can imagine, but they are full Knights, good mecha, and I know they never hid this from you. Like all painful things they simply did not bring it up unprompted."

Striker took Thorn's hand, his black fingers curling around Thorn's pale silvery ones. "I never knew... But then, I never thought to _ask_. And I kept putting off checking records." He shook himself, wings rattling.

"Does it truly change that much?" Thorn asked gently.

"Not really... It just makes me feel like an idiot for not knowing." Striker peeled himself off the side of the building, hovering next to Thorn.

Thorn smiled gently and leaned in to kiss Striker's forehelm. "It was all long over by the time you were sparked," he said gently. "There was little reason to bring it up, and most of us made a point of not thinking about it. Wing ... Wing was the light in the Citadel. When we lost him, we lost something ... too painful to loose. To have him back ... we didn't want to think about the time he was gone."

Striker made a soft humming sound at the kiss, then nodded. "Makes sense... Must have been quite a shock to see him again."

"Shock doesn't even begin to cover it," Thorn couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. "Drift kept who was coming with him a secret until they walked out of the ship. Dai Atlas dropped on the spot."

Striker stared at him incredulously. "He _fainted_? _Dai Atlas_ actually _fainted_?" After a moment of gawking to make sure Thorn was serious, Striker burst out laughing, so hard he had to cling to the black mech to keep from falling.

Thorn held him up, his engines easily keeping them both in the air. His grin was bright, pleased at having lightened the mood. "Yes. The big dent in landing bay one? The one that somehow is never repaired; that's where he landed."

Striker tried to say something, but he was laughing too hard. After several failed attempts, he gave up and simply laughed until he finally managed to get it out of his system. The glitter in red optics hinted that he wasn't going to be able to look at Dai Atlas without snickering anytime soon.

Once he'd gotten himself back under control, Striker looked Thorn over. "You have paint all over you," he observed. Tilting his helm, he smiled brightly at the black jet. "Can I help get it off?"

"I would like that," Thorn leaned in to kiss his forehelm again. "I just need to finish this section. Two breems at most."

Striker grinned, his own engines humming back to full power. Once again supporting himself in flight, the white and red jet hovered with Thorn, watching the black Knight work, admiring his frame and the fine control Thorn had of it. In the big maneuvers Striker could keep up with the Knight, but once it got into canyon tag or sharp turns, Thorn's experience left Striker in the sand, sometimes literally.

He happily passed the short time until Thorn was satisfied his duties were done and signaled Striker to follow him to his balcony. Striker was immediately right at Thorn's side, humming or purring to himself as he followed the older mech to Thorn's balcony. He landed neatly, almost bouncing in place but managing to keep himself still. With no more than a flick of a wing Thorn led him into the only separate area in his quarters; a small washrack.

Without hesitation Thorn turned on the solvent, ran it hot, and handed a brush to Striker with a smile and flare of his wings in invitation.

Striker's optics brightened as he took the brush, applying it to the bright paint streaking Thorn's armor. He worked the brush in gentle but firm circles as the paint flaked off, feathering the bristles along the edges of the armor plates, where paint tended to sneak in.

Without reservation Thorn leaned forward and puffed his armor out, exposing the edges and the protoform underneath to Striker's touch. Soft sounds escaped him as his field extended to caress Striker's, full of desire and softly building pleasure.

Striker grinned hugely, continuing to work the brush in circles over the worst paint smears, easing the bristles under the edges of the armor plates, working his way down Thorn's frame. Now and then he couldn't resist running his fingertips over smooth black plating, tracing the plate edges and seams. Thorn's field encouraged him, as did the low, rumbling purr of his engines and tiny sounds escaping his vocalizer.

There was no question that Thorn was _enjoying_ the touch more than just the physical response warranted.

Striker ran the brush lightly over Thorn's shoulder as he went for the next blotch, on the black jet's wing. The younger mech was grinning hugely, his own field pulsing with _desire-want_ as he worked the bristles over the sensitive wing.

A deep, rumbling moan and flare of _pleasure-desire_ answered, though Thorn managed to hold still. His wing arched back slightly, pressing into the touch.

Striker let out a soft chirr, feathering the brush across Thorn's wing, letting the bristles slowly slide off the edges, dip into the join of wings to chassis. The white and red jet alternated long, smooth strokes with light spirals over the expanses of Thorn's wings until the wing, then Thorn's entire frame, began to tremble faintly. Striker had to hold back a moan when the pleasure in Thorn's field began to build to the point where energy crackled along his frame.

"Please..." Thorn moaned, flexing his other wing and wiggling it for attention.

"Of course," Striker purred, running the brush one last time over the first wing, trailing the bristles across the span of Thorn's back as he turned his attention to the other wing. Starting from the join of wing to chassis, Striker worked his way across the extended wing, his fingers trailing in the wake of the bristles.

A long, low, quivering moan matched the trembling of Thorn's frame. His fingers curled against the washrack wall as he gave voice to the building pleasure and his desire for more.

The younger jet's optics were bright as he drank in Thorn's reactions, finishing the wing and turning his attention back to the black jet's body. Brush and fingers ran over black plating, slipping under after stray bits of paint, making a careful note of which places brought the best responses.

Thorn shuddered and nearly whined. Both his wings arched back, quivering and silently demanding attention.

Striker's response was a laugh as he put the brush down, running his hands over the expanses of Thorn's wings. Warm palms caressed the flat panels, fingertips delicately probing the seams and edges. Striker's thumbtips caressed the join of wing to body, dipping into the seams to stroke over the wiring that lay beneath sleek black armor.

Greatly daring, hoping he wasn't going to get swatted for this, the white and red jet leaned forward, delicately nipping at the leading edge of one dark wing. Instead he got what he wanted, a cry and surge of pleasure across their fields as Thorn stiffened, his wings quivering and frame crackling with electricity.

Close, so close. Thorn's fingers curled harder against the wall as he panted, seeking that little bit of extra stimulation that would push him over the edge.

Striker smirked against the dark wing, quite pleased with himself. His hands slid across those wings, finding and stimulating every sensor in reach. Pressing his lips against one particular sensor, Striker hummed, his lips vibrating against Thorn's wing. His entire frame jerked with a sharp, keening cry and explosion of bliss in his field.

Reflexes locked Thorn's leg joints to keep him upright as the overload crashed through him from his wings to his core, the bliss nearly whiting out his deep ruby optics, turning them a pale pink for a moment.

Striker puffed his armor, quite proud of himself. His optics watched Thorn's overload with keen interest, his own wings twitching rapidly as the pleasure and energy jumped from the black jet to him.

When the charge abated Thorn sank forward, leaning heavily on his arms and chest against the wall as he recovered.

Striker licked his lips as he watched, wings hiked as high as he could get them. That had looked amazing, and he wondered when he'd get the chance to experience that.

"Thank you," Thorn smiled over his shoulder. Still a touch shaky, he considered the heavily aroused mechling behind him. "Berth?"

Striker perked up visibly. "Thought you'd never ask," he replied, optics shining. Turning off the solvent spray, he trotted after the black jet, trying not to do an impression of a hyper turbo-puppy.

"Imp," Thorn chuckled, reaching back to pull Striker against his chest. Striker gave him a perfectly innocent look, though the effect was immediately ruined by the white and red jet's laugh. He leaned against Thorn's chest, pressing himself against the warm black armor, returning the chaste, but intense kiss eagerly.

A low hum came from Thorn before he broke the kiss and guided Striker the last few steps to his berth. "Have you thought of what you want for our first time?"

"Haven't been able to make up my mind," Striker replied cheerfully. "I've been more focused on the 'who' than on the 'what'." He fluttered his wings at Thorn playfully.

"Then we'll just have to take our time and explore all the options you can take in one night," Deep ruby optics glittered as Striker was guided to lie on his back and Thorn settled next to him, kissing him. One hand stroked down Striker's chest, slow and exploratory.

"Sounds good," Striker purred, half-lidding his optics as he watched the other mech, pressing his wings against Thorn's berth. The young jet returned the kiss, pressing his chest into Thorn's hand. It felt _good_ , nothing like his own touch, or that of his creators.

Then Thorn's hand slid further down, his slender fingers teasing the edges of abdominal plating.

"Ooooh," Striker moaned, wings twitching, leaning into Thorn's hand. The black jet's touch was sending shivers through his sensor net. Then those fingers slid lower to caress light circles on Striker's spike cover.

Striker's wings rattled against the berth as his back arched, his hips squirming into that touch. It only took a nanoklik or two for the cover to give way, releasing Striker's spike to pressurize into waiting fingers. The first touch of Thorn's fingertip along the sensitive length made Striker cry out and his hips thrust up. Touching himself felt amazing, but he had no words to describe what the touch of a desired lover was like.

Striker whined softly, pawing lightly at Thorn, craving more. His primary red optics met Thorn's, another soft cry being wrung from him.

The larger jet smiled down at him and leaned over to claim his mouth in a kiss. He closed his fingers around the fully pressurized spike and began to slowly stroke it, taking extra time near the tip to rub his palm over the extra sensitive section.

Striker returned the kiss, moaning into Thorn's mouth. His hips jerked, trying to thrust against the black jet's palm. The white and red frame writhed against Thorn's, Striker alternating between moaning and mewling softly.

"So lovely," Thorn murmured, drinking in the feel and sight of his new lover caught in the throes of a new pleasure. He lowered his helm to kiss him again and slowly increased the speed of his strokes without losing any attention to detail.

Striker's fingers tightened on the edge of the berth, one hand hooking onto Thorn's armor. The young jet's field pulsed with _need-desire-amazement_. This was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, and he craved it.

"It only gets better," Thorn promised, rolling his fingers around the shaft as he sped up. "It will get so much better."

Striker tried to tell him to prove it, but all that came out was a garbled sound. His hips bucked into Thorn's hand, his body moving with a mind of its own. Energy was building, pushing the young jet closer and closer to overload while Thorn continued to stroke him. Strong, slender fingers closed more tightly, increasing the sensations coming from Striker's spike.

"Let go, my beauty," Thorn cooed, his frame nearly quivering in anticipation of Striker's overload.

Striker's whole body jolted as overload hit him with the force of a tsunami. One hand clutched the berth, the other Thorn's armor as the young jet cried out, optics flaring a brilliant scarlet. His helm was thrown back, the tips of his audial spikes scraping across the surface of the berth. Complex wings fanned out, quivering and rattling against the berth as energy roared through every circuit, jumping from his frame to the black one next to him. Every burst of hot transfluid that was ejected from his spike to splatter on his chest sent a new jolt of raw pleasure almost too intense to stand as it rushed by sensors buried deep inside the tube at the center of his spike.

It was processor-blowing, unlike anything Striker had ever even _imagined_. His frame collapsed back against the berth, trembling, venting hot air through every vent and a few armor seams. His optics flickered briefly as they reset, his field expressing just how intense that experience had been as well as conveying a non-verbal plea for _more_.

"Oh, I have so much more to show you," Thorn promised, his frame quivering in need and anticipation. With a quick kiss on pliant lips he moved to kneel between Striker's legs.

Still unable to speak, Striker used the gleam in primary red optics and a flood of anticipation in his field to express what he thought of that. Spreading his legs to give his lover more room, he watched eagerly as Thorn opened his spike cover and extended his spike. A base color of black that matched Thorn's frame with a tip of the silver of his hands and face and twining lines of gold and glowing red commanded Striker's attention.

Teasing fingers caressed Striker's valve cover, asking for admittance.

The younger jet's optics widened briefly as he looked over Thorn's spike, licking his lips absently. His valve cover yielded almost immediately, allowing the dark mech's fingers to slip inside the perfectly slick space.

With a tremor Thorn pulled his fingers out and leaned forward to kiss Striker once more. He rolled his hips forward while he held the kiss, smoothly pressing his spike into Striker's valve.

Striker returned the kiss, running his glossa lightly over the black jet's lower lip. His body stiffened briefly as Thorn's spike entered his valve, vents gasping at the new sensation. A moment later he relaxed into it, gasp becoming a whine as his hips pressed up into Thorn's.

Thorn willingly opened his mouth to deepen the kiss and slowly drew his hips back before thrusting forward again.

Striker's arms came up to wrap around Thorn's torso, fingers scraping lightly across his back. One leg slid up to curl around Thorn's hip as if by reflex. The younger jet's glossa slid into the black mech's mouth, exploring. A soft moan escaped into Thorn's mouth as the black jet's hips began to move.

Above him Thorn trembled, struggling to hold his overload back enough for his lover to enjoy the experience.

Soft moan escaped Striker in time with Thorn's thrusts, primary red optics flicking off as the young jet focused all his attention on what he was feeling. His complex wings beat a tattoo against the berth, his fingers raking slowly down Thorn's back. He could distantly feel overload starting to build, but against him the overload was already well past its natural pinnacle and still climbing higher as Thorn held back.

The white and red writhed under Thorn, optics flickering, clinging to the black mech. His field pressed against Thorn's, his vocalizer letting out a staticky cry at the maelstrom that was Thorn's field.

"Too close," Thorn apologized. "Can't..." he screamed as his body arched sharply, driving his spike as deeply into Striker as possible, grinding their interface arrays together as his frame locked from the electrical storm shorting out his motor control.

Under Thorn, Striker's back arched, his hips pressing up into the black jet's, his hands tightening on black armor. Thorn's overload triggered Striker's, the young white and red mech's valve tightening around the elder mech's spike. Striker howled Thorn's designation, one audial spike scraping across the berth with enough force to strike sparks. His field flared and crackled, feeding and feeding off of Thorn's as the older jet pumped burst after burst of transfluid into Striker's valve.

Striker's arms and legs tightened, clinging to Thorn as he writhed beneath the older mech, his cry breaking into static. It felt good, so good. He didn't want it to end.

Slowly, Thorn began to relax, his frame unlocking one joint at a time. His flared wings quivered, fluttered and eventually sagged as he sank down on top of Striker, only barely managing to hold himself up enough on his arms to keep his full weight off of his lover.

Striker had all but collapsed into a twitching, winged heap, his grip on the black mech loosening, his leg slipping limply off Thorn's hip. Steam curled lazily from his vents, caressing black armor. His hands were still stroking over Thorn's back and wings, but there was absolutely no coordination to the touches.

Above him his lover was in little better shape, and moving even less. Most of his focus was on not crushing the smaller mech. It felt entirely too good too, to simply rest here after such an intense buildup and hard, fast overload. He felt a little bad about making it happen so quickly, but was content that Striker had overloaded.

Striker was content where he was, his valve still quivering around Thorn's spike. A soft hum rose from his vocalizer. The young mech turned off his optics, taking the opportunity to catch his breath. Soft lip plates caressed his and Thorn reluctantly drew his hips back to roll to Striker's side.

"Glad you enjoyed it," Thorn murmured.

"That was... incredible," the white and red murmured, squirming closer to press against Thorn's warm armor. "I enjoyed that very much."

"Good," he purred, nuzzling his lover. "I have much more to show you, after we've recovered."

"I look forward to it most eagerly," Striker purred, settling himself against Thorn, nuzzling into dark armor. His wings twitched, then settled, contented.

* * *

It was a couple of joors before Striker came out of a light recharge, stretching leisurely. Primary red optics flickered on, brightening to a warm glow as the young jet took in what was going on. He was pressed against Thorn, one leg draped over the black jet's, his arms wrapped around his lover, clinging to him. Striker had probably been purring the whole time he'd been recharging, as well.

"Hey there, my lovely," Thorn purred with a nuzzle.

"Hello to you, too," Striker purred, returning the nuzzle, letting out a soft mew of contentment. Slowly he released his death grip on the black mech, stroking his palms down Thorn's back and sides, trailing his fingers over those dark-veined wings.

"Ready for more, or are there questions first?" Thorn shivered at the touch.

"More than ready for more," Striker replied, pressing his hips against Thorn's and wiggling suggestively. His wings fanned out, fluttering in as sensual a manner as they could.

A low, amused chuckle preceded a kiss as Thorn trailed his fingers down Striker's chest. "Any requests, or should I just start working through the rest of the interfacing options?"

"I suspect there are more than a few options I am unaware of, so just start working your way through them." Primary red optics brightened, the younger mech's field full of _eagerness-anticipation-desire_.

"Likely," Thorn agreed and leaned in for another kiss. "On your knees, hands against the wall," he purred before shifting away so Striker could move.

Reluctantly, Striker let go of the black mech, moving to assume the position Thorn had requested. "Like this?" He looked back over his shoulder, fluttering his wings and curving his back sinuously.

"Yes," lust dripped off the single word. "Oh yes," Thorn moved up behind him, pressing against his back briefly to steal a kiss.

Striker gave Thorn a coy look, writhing against Thorn, playfully pressing his aft back into Thorn's pelvic span. He returned the kiss, nipping at Thorn's jaw, purring again.

"Remember what you did to me in the washrack?" Thorn rumbled, bringing his hands up to give the wiggling, flirting wings a long, sensuous stroke.

"I remember very, very well," Striker replied, gasping and pressing his wings back into Thorn's hands. "My turn for that treatment?" He looked back over his shoulder in eager hopefulness.

"Yes," Thorn purred, bending down to kiss a wing-joint as he stroke the flat planes, so different from his own fan-like wings.

Striker's wings trembled from bases to tips, fanning out as far as they could to give Thorn easy access to all the joints, edges, seams, and the control surfaces. Shifting his weight, the young jet braced himself against the wall, his wings pressing into Thorn's hands.

"Feels good, doesn't it," Thorn purred, stroking his lover's wings again, only this time pausing to play with each control surface he found.

"Sooooooooooo good," the white and red jet moaned, doing his very best not to melt into a winged heap. Turning his helm, he watched over his shoulder, wings twitching faintly at the petting.

Thorn smiled and nuzzled one wing joint as he continued to stroke, his movements smooth and slow, intent on giving as slow a build up as he could manage.

It wasn't long before Striker started purring, wings still spread as far as they could go and almost vibrating. The white and red jet's fingers curled, scraping against the wall as he pressed back into Thorn's hands.

"Understand now why a lover is so much better than pleasuring yourself?" Thorn crooned, pressing against Striker's back to soak in the pleasure his lover was emanating.

"Oh yes," Striker moaned, his field wrapping around the black jet's. "I understand now..."

"Good," Thorn pushed his field into his lover, washing every circuit in energy.

Striker went stiff as energy crackled along his circuitry, cascading through his sensor net. He threw back his helm, keening in overload, nearly hitting Thorn with his audial spikes. Against his back Thorn moaned and stiffened, though he didn't overload as he continued to stroke Striker's wings and pulse his field into the younger jet as he eased Striker down from his first tactile overload.

Striker leaned forward to press his chest against the wall, resting his rounded cheekplate against the smooth metal. Wisps of steam curled from his cooling vents, and his field pulsed with _amazement-need_. The young jet remained in that position for a long moment before leaning back against Thorn and a kiss to an audial spike.

"Still hungry for more?" Thorn was amused as well as aroused.

"Very much so," was the response as the red-trimmed white body pressed back against Thorn's. Striker's chin was tipped up for a long, passionate kiss.

"Spike me?" Thorn asked as much as offered.

Striker perked up at that, his wings trembling again. "I would _love_ to," he replied, turning to face the older jet and another kiss.

Thorn's hands explored that sleek white and red frame as he guided them down with Striker landing on top of him.

Striker's spike was already pressurized. The young jet ran his hands over Thorn's body, stroking his sleek armor, shifting to settle between Thorn's legs. One hand roamed down to brush lightly over the older mech's valve cover. It slid open for him immediately, offering full access to the slick, sensitive space while deep ruby optics watched him, hungry and wanting.

A black finger slid inside, stroking lightly around the rim before sliding deeper, locating and stroking over one of the sensor nodes and taking in the way the flexible lining quivered and constricted around his finger. The young jet's expression was part grin and part smirk as he made note of the amount of lubricant already present, his primary red optics meeting Thorn's deep crimson as the larger mech moaned shamelessly and let his helm tip back.

While Thorn's field gave no doubt the black Knight wanted more _now_ , he kept his desires silent, wanting Striker to explore as much as he desired.

A second finger slid into Thorn's valve, the two digits working in deeper, brushing teasingly over the sensor node they found. Striker's optics were fixed on Thorn's face, his wings arched high and quivering as he took in the sensations of being the pleasure-giver in such an intimate way. It was glorious to draw moans from stroking Thorn's wings, but this ... all he could think about was feeling the reactions his fingers were garnering around his spike.

Black-veined golden wings fanned out fully, rubbing against the berth in an unconscious effort to push Thorn's charge higher.

Striker's fingers slid in as deep as they could go, then he spread them out and withdrew them slowly, his engines starting to rev as he watched the older mech's reactions. Allowing his fingers to slip all the way out of Thorn's valve, he held them up, inspected them for a few nanokliks, then began licking away the lubricant, edging closer and lining up the tip of his spike with Thorn's valve.

His lover's optics were locked on his fingers and glossa even as his hips rolled up a touch to improve their alignment.

Smirking, Striker made a show of licking the lubricant from his fingers, nudging the tip of his spike against the platelets surrounding Thorn's valve. Slowly, he eased his spike inside, wings fluttering at the new sensations coursing through his sensor net.

Thorn moaned deep in his chest, his entire frame quivering as he forced himself to hold still. His mouth opened as he began to pant, whining slightly in needs he didn't want to voice yet. This was for _Striker_ , not himself, no matter how good it felt.

The younger jet took his time working his spike into Thorn's valve, not stopping until he was fully sheathed. Striker leaned forward to brace himself on his palms, his body quivering all over. He'd been eagerly looking forward to this, but never had he imagined it would feel this _good_. After taking a couple of kliks to savor the experience, he began to move, doing his best to mimic the way Thorn had moved when it had been his spike in Striker's valve.

Black hips rolled and thrust into each stroke, experience allowing Thorn to guide Striker's movements without appearing to do so. He moaned, enjoying the sensations as he spread his legs wider, to take Striker in even deeper and rub more of the sensor rich platelets around the rim of his valve.

Striker echoed the moan, leaning down to press a kiss to the black jet's lips and found the kiss eagerly returned. He slowly began moving faster, the need driving him. Thorn's hands came up to rub along Striker's back, subtly encouraging the best rhythm.

With as high as his charge already was Thorn couldn't hold back the needy keens and cries that escaped into their kiss.

Striker nibbled gently on Thorn's lower lip, speeding up to match the pace set by Thorn's hands. His wings were fully flared out, hiked as high as they could possibly go. Electricity was already jumping from Thorn's frame to his, sending jolts of pleasure directly into Striker's neural network.

"Harder," Thorn whined, his hips straining and valve clenching rhythmically around the exquisitely crafted spike sliding in and out of him.

Striker responded with a shaky chuckle, thrusting in harder and deeper. He shifted his position slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts and earning a howl of encouragement from his lover. Primary red optics were glowing brightly as energy built up in the young jet's body.

The sensation of causing another to writhe and keen in such abandon was as intoxicating as the sensations radiating from Thorn and through Striker's own frame.

"Please," Thorn cried out. "Want to feel your transfluid in me."

It didn't take much encouragement. Striker thrust in as deeply as he could, back arching as overload crashed through him. The young mech howled his release, hips jerking as transfluid spurted from his spike, filling Thorn's valve. Energy crackled across his frame, arcing between his wingtips and the tips of his audial spikes, leaping off onto Thorn's body.

Under him the black jet roared into a scream as the charge-rich gel rushed over sensitized nodes, causing the pleasure to explode from his valve outward, spiraling through his frame until there was nothing but pleasure in Thorn's awareness.

Bright red optics flared nearly white. Striker's joints locked up, his wings shivering, before finally collapsing over Thorn, body twitching as he slowly came down from that incredible high. Steam curled from his vents, beading on white and red armor. Gradually he became aware that Thorn was stroking his back, humming in the lingering pleasure and the crackling of cooling armor.

"You feel amazing," Thorn purred happily.

"So do you," Striker replied lazily, stretching before settling back down sprawled over Thorn's torso. His spike was still buried in the older mech's valve, the younger mech making no move to pull away. He nuzzled into black armor in a distinctly possessive manner, wings fanning out in a way that clearly read as "MINE".

A soft chuckle escaped Thorn. "Careful what you claim, pretty," he crooned. "I don't share well outside a trine."

The younger mech smirked cockily at him. Purring, he settled down, wings relaxing, leaning into the hand stroking his back as they both enjoyed the warmth and sated sensations of recovery.


	3. Truth or Dare in Family

Drift grinned wickedly as he simply pulled the chest of high grade cubes to the short table at the center of the living room where his mate, their creation and their creation's lover were lounging.

"Tonight, I get to pick the game," the only grounder of the lot said, causing every much to tense slightly. "Truth or dare."

Wing blinked at his mate. "You're serious?"

Drift just grinned, their bond pulsing with mirth and the kind of excitement that Wing had come to associate with his mate's more insane moods.

Striker looked from Wing to Drift and back. "Truth or dare?"

"The rules are simple," Drift grinned at his creation. "When it's your turn, you take a drink."

"That's a mouthful," Thorn spoke up helpfully.

Drift nodded. "Then you can ask a question of anyone who didn't just ask you one. They can either answer _truthfully_ , or ask for a dare. That can be anything that won't send them to Redline and doesn't interrupt the game much. Then they get to ask someone a question."

Striker's wings twitched for a moment. "Sounds... interesting..." He looked over at Thorn for a moment and saw his lover in a good mood.

"It's fun," Drift insisted as he passed out the first cubes; grounder high grade for himself and jet high grade for the others.

"If you say so," the young white and red jet replied, shifting position.

Wing groaned. "Just prepare to end up thoroughly tanked and with a wicked hangover, and to thoroughly embarrass yourself before too long."

"And expect everything to have vid captures," Thorn snickered and accepted his cube. "So who's first?"

Wing nodded at Thorn. "So you will _never_ be able to deny anything. It will be _guaranteed_ that someone will have vid proof."

"I guess it's my turn first," Drift grinned and downed more than a mouthful, fully aware of how much higher his tolerance was to his companions. "Striker, have you spark merged yet?"

The younger mech took a drink from his own cube. "Not yet, but I would like to." The look he gave Thorn had some heat in it. Then he grinned at the black mech. "Thorn, what's the kinkiest thing you've ever done with a lover?"

The black mech looked caught between shocked at the question and trying to think about how to answer it. He took a sip of his high grade to think rather than as part of the game.

"I spark merged in the sky once," he finally decided. "I would have hit ground if Blacksong hadn't recovered fast enough."

Striker stared at his lover for a moment. Then his optics lit up in the manner that typically meant he had An Idea.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Wing growled, his wings flaring out in an open threat, his optics locked on Thorn.

"Better me than someone who doesn't know what they're doing," the black jet pointed out.

"Just better not find out," Drift rumbled, his own armor flared in a protective threat.

Striker glared at his creators. "You two are no fun."

"They're sane," Thorn shook his helm. "I almost get _killed_ doing something, and you think it's a good idea to try it?"

"I am not nearly overcharged enough for this conversation," Drift muttered and downed half his cube. "Move on and sort it out on your own time."

Thorn nodded and centered himself before turning curious optics on Wing. "When did you know Drift was the one?"

Now Drift's attention was firmly focused on his mate.

Wing took a drink from his own cube of high grade and answered promptly. "I knew as soon as I laid optics on him for the first time." He leaned over to lightly kiss Drift, pulling away before that light kiss could turn into anything else.

Thorn watched with a smile that was half warm and half sad when Drift chased Wing's mouth for a second kiss, unwilling to give up the contact so quickly.

Wing chirred happily, nuzzling briefly against his mate. "Behave... There'll be time after the game," he playfully informed the white grounder, tweaking the tip of an audial finial.

Golden optics sparkled at Drift. "What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done in your life?"

Ice blue optics glared back. "Dare."

Wing gave him the sweetest and most innocent of grins. "Your dare is to... keep your hands to yourself for the rest of the game." Before Drift could react to that, the white jet draped himself across his mate's lap, that innocent smile still firmly in place.

The white grounder's frame quivered with a sharp intake of air as he stared down, seriously debating whether or not to answer. After a moment he took a drink and fixed his gaze on the dark ruby pair across from him. "What _won't_ you do for my creation?"

Thorn jerked in surprise but settled himself quickly. "Break my oaths."

Golden optics as wide and innocent as a new dawn answered Drift's stare, Wing humming to himself as he made himself comfortable on Drift's lap. Tilting his helm toward Thorn, the white jet smiled brightly.

Striker ruffled his wings, grinning. He nearly missed the way Drift shifted to lay a forearm across Wing's hip and rub lightly.

With a chuckle Thorn took his drink and looked at Striker. "What do you desire of me?"

"I want _you_ ", the younger white and red mech replied. His wings fluttered a bit as he tried to find a better way to say it, finally shrugging helplessly and taking a mouthful of his own cube. Turning his helm toward Wing and Drift, he chuckled at the forearm over Wing's hip before lifting his optics to meet pale blue. "How did you know that Wing was _your_ one?"

Any semblance of good humor drained from Drift. His optics dropped to the floor, not able to meet any of them, not even the mech who already knew.

"When I was furious that using his Great Sword didn't kill me," he said quietly, taking a long drink of his cube, nearly finishing it. "When it was too late to matter." He couldn't completely smother the bitterness there, that it was a lesson that came too late, like so many others.

Striker seemed to shrink into himself, mumbling something. Wing chirred softly, leaning against Drift and flooding their bond with his love and support while Drift centered himself again.

"Hint; when asking about my past, expect unpleasant answers," Drift said as his voice returned to normal. "Unlike New Crystal City mecha, I didn't have an easy existence before I became an Initiate."

"Message received," Striker murmured, his wings flaring out from their tightly-folded position at receiving both forgiveness and understanding.

"Wing," Drift purred, his pale blue optics gleaming with mischief of his own as he leaned down to claim a teasing kiss. "What's the longest you've gone without?"

Wing tilted his helm as he thought for a moment. "About half a decaorn or so, right after my home city fell. I was too much of a mess for a while to do much of anything."

Drift hummed, regretting that he brought up painful memories. Absently he wondered why this was so much less fun than before.

Wing nuzzled his mate, chirring. Through their bond he informed Drift that it was something he was well on his way to finally coming to terms with; it still hurt, but not with the soul-crushing pain it had before. Seven centuries in this New Crystal City and their bond had soothed him more that he thought was possible. Taking a drink from his cube, he tilted his helm to look at Thorn upside-down. "What are your intentions toward Striker?"

The black and gold mech with glowing red markings hummed, not thoughtful so much as considering his words. "To bond, when he settles down enough to be content with me."

Wing grinned at that. Striker fanned his wings, his optics brightening. Drift nodded, stroking Wing's inner thigh with the back of his arm while Thorn took a drink.

"Drift, what's the kinkiest thing you've ever enjoyed?" Thorn asked, choosing his phrasing carefully.

The grounder took his time refilling his cube as he considered all the options.

"I believe it was when I allowed Wing to bind me to the berth and ride me spike until I couldn't overload anymore," he rumbled, very turned on by the memory.

Wing snickered. Striker just stared at the two of them, jaw dropping for a moment before the young jet shook himself.

"Like the thought of it?" Thorn leaned over to his lover and purred.

"Definitely something to keep in mind," Striker replied, returning the purr, nuzzling Thorn.

Drift took a drink and considered his options. "Striker, what's the kinkiest thing you've thought of before tonight?"

The young jet stammered for a moment. Did he really want his creators to know just how dirty his mind could get? "Dare."

The grin that spread across Drift's features boded ill of that idea. "I dare you to suck Thorn off, here and now."

Primary red optics went huge, the young jet's jaw dropping again. That was something he hadn't expected; he'd never done anything like that in public. After a few kliks, Striker looked at Thorn to see if he was okay with that.

A low chuckle came from the black jet as he leaned back on his forearms and grinned. His spike cover slid open in offering. His spike pressurized by command rather than arousal.

Striker blinked several times. Then he shrugged, almost oozing over to his lover, leaning forward to kiss the black jet before turning his attention lower. The tip of his glossa traced the tip of Thorn's spike for a moment before he took the full length in his mouth.

A low, rumbling moan rewarded his efforts along with a pulse of pleasure against his field as Thorn sought to mesh them.

Striker's field meshed easily with Thorn's as the young jet ran his glossa over the nodes of his lover's spike, hands coming up to stroke sleek black thighs. The white and red mech kept his full attention on what he was doing, doing his best to ignore the two pairs of optics fixed on him and the flares of their fields.

With another moan Thorn shifted his weight to free one hand so he could stroke Strike's helm, his fingers teasing the elegant finial sweeps as the pleasure quickly built.

Striker hummed, settling into the rhythm his lover preferred. His audial spikes wiggled ever so slightly at the touches as he bobbed his helm, all his attention on what he was doing. Even with the weird situation, it felt good to make Thorn moan.

Beyond him Drift's engine revved hard, right along with Wing's. The white jet's golden optics turning toward his mate. "Remember your dare," he crooned to the white grounder, reaching up to tap Drift on the tip of his nose. Settling back, he turned his attention back to the show their creation and his lover were putting on.

"I _am_ keeping my hands to myself," Drift rumbled even as he caressed Wing's spike cover with his forearm.

Striker's hum became a purr, his mouth vibrating against Thorn's spike. The young jet swallowed, flicking his glossa against the sensitive nodes.

"Ohhh," Thorn shuddered, moaning deeply as his helm fell back and his optics turned off. "Close," he warned as his hips rolled up into Striker's next bob.

Wing chirred softly, amused, idly stroking his mate's white armor, teasing the grounder. He knew Drift would get him for it later, but it would be so worth it.

Agile fingers worked into Thorn's hip joints, the other hand sneaking into the gap between the armor plates at his knee. Striker's own optics dimmed, every ounce of concentration on his lover's spike until the ripple of electricity washed through his oral cavity just before Thorn groaned and thrust his hips up. A hot shot of transfluid exploded into Striker's mouth, carrying the charge down Striker's intake.

The young jet swallowed, not letting any of the fluid escape. Slowly, reluctantly, he withdrew, letting his lips trail lightly over Thorn's spike, the tip stroking over his lower lip before Striker withdrew entirely.

"I like your creator's dares," Thorn purred in contentment, not the least bit bothered that his spike was still on display as it slowly depressurized.

"Though I have to admit I dread what else he might come up with," Striker purred back, licking his lips, savoring the taste of his lover's transfluid. The young mech curled up in his seat and retrieved his cube, looking at the other three, pondering who he wanted to pick this time.

"Keep picking dares and you'll find out," Drift smirked at him. "You two put on a nice show."

"That smirk alone tells me you've got evil ideas brewing," Striker retorted, tilting his helm at Drift. Red optics shifted back to his own lover. "So, Thorn... what do you plan on doing with me after this game is over?"

"That depends on how much I have left when Drift is done with you," Thorn laughed. "At the very least I'll be carrying you back to my quarters to recharge."

"That is, if you can even still walk," Striker chuckled. "You pick dare when he asks you something and I would bet he'll do the same thing to you as he does me."

A glance at Drift and Thorn shook his helm with a chuckle. "He went easy on you, believe me. Wing ... What _haven't_ you done with Drift in the berth, but want to?"

The white jet laughed. "There's not much we haven't done in the berth," he replied with a saucy wink. "Except recharging, that is."

"I can vouch for that," Striker cycled his optics in remembered exasperation.

"Lucky you," Thorn purred.

Wing gave Striker a cheeky grin, then took a drink from his freshly refilled cube, optics flickering as the high grade hit his systems. He was settling into the pleasantly overcharged stage. Reaching up, he ran a finger along Drift's jaw. "Tell me, mate of mine, am I being terribly mean by not letting you touch me?"

"You know you are," Drift rumbled, turning his face to capture that finger, holding it lightly in his denta so he could lick and suck on it.

Wing laughed softly, shifting to press one nacelle against Drift's chestplate. The gentle idle of his engine vibrated against the white chestplate.

Striker shook his helm at the both of them, sidling closer to Thorn.

::If we stay very quiet, they might forget we're here,::Thorn grinned as he nuzzled his lover.

The both watched in amusement as Drift's engine replied, deep and strong, vibrating against Wing's side. With a shameless ease, Drift added a bit more weight to the arm over Wing's spike cover and rubbed.

Striker oozed over, settling himself on Thorn's lap. ::You just want to watch,::he teased back, curling up against the black mech.

: Can you blame me, with you in my lap?::Thorn kissed his lover's neck.

Wing squirmed, trilling. His perch on Drift's lap meant that his aft had been pressing against his mate's interface panel since settling there, so every twitch and squirm would be winding the white grounder up even more. He could feel over their bond and in Drift's field that his mate's willingness to be aroused without satisfaction was coming to an end. The images Drift was directing at him made it difficult to keep his panels closed.

"Mine," Drift growled, letting Wing's finger go so he could leaned down and press a demanding kiss on his mate's mouth.

The white jet laughed into the kiss, shifting on his mate's lap. White wings fluttered gently against Drift's side, marking the jet's arousal.

From across the low table, two sets of red optics watched with bright interest.

Abruptly Drift pulled back and smirked at his lover, the bond pulsing with lustful playfulness mixed with a smug cruelty that rarely came into play. "Striker, what do you want to do to Thorn the most that you haven't yet?"

Wing raised an optic rim at his mate, then yipped in surprise at the sudden change of position when Drift twisted and rolled, pinning Wing beneath him. Astonished golden optics fixed on the smug smirk on Drift's face as the grounder pinned him with his heavier frame and forearms, then began to casually rub his fully pressurized spike against Wing's lower pelvic armor. It would be enough to get Drift off, but would do no more than wined Wing up.

Striker actually jumped at the unexpected question; apparently he and Thorn hadn't gone quite as unnoticed as either of them had thought. His wings hiked up into an embarrassed posture. "Dare..."

"Mmm," Drift regarded his creation with interest, an expression that Thorn mirrored.

"I dare you to _not_ overload while Thorn works his spike deep inside your valve," Drift grinned.

Wing squirmed under Drift, though he wasn't actually trying to get away.

Striker let out a small whine. He'd be able to hold off for a bit, but how long was up in the air. Thorn was very, very good at driving the white and red jet to overload.

Thorn nuzzled Striker's face up for a kiss. "I won't think badly of you no matter what it is."

The white and red jet twitched, leaning into Thorn. A sigh gusted from his vents. "Okay, fine, truth." He squirmed, looking away from the black mech. "Spark merge. _Full_ merge."

A deep flash of _excitement-YES_ roared through Thorn's field.

Striker perked up at that, wings relaxing, smiling at his dark-armored lover. It took a moment to remember that it was his turn. He took a drink and snuggled against Thorn as they watched Drift rub against Wing. "Wing, are you regretting teasing Drift now?"

The white jet snorted. "Not in the least," he replied cheerfully. "So, Drift, what are you going to do with me now?"

A low grunt was the grounder's first reply, his optics half lidded and dim in mounting pleasure.

"Leave you hanging," Drift growled, the first shudder of his building overload rippling along his frame.

Wing mock-pouted at his mate. "Now you're being mean."

Striker almost fell off Thorn's lap, he was laughing so hard.

"You started it," Drift moaned, his pace picking up.

Wing squirmed again, letting out a soft whine. He ran his hands over Drift's shoulders, wriggling under the white grounder in vain. Drift was just as good at denying him contact as he was at driving Wing to overload with it.

Striker watched with interest once he'd finally managed to stop laughing. He hadn't seen this dynamic play out between his creators before. Drift's field, thick with pleasure, flared out to lick at the jets watching.

"Damn, they're hot," Thorn moaned, holding Striker against his chest.

"They are," the white and red jet agreed, curling up on Thorn's lap and leaning against his chest, wings twitching contentedly.

With a deep grunt Drift's hips thrust forward several times and he roared, throwing his helm back as pale blue optics went white with the overload crashing through him.

The white jet under Drift let out another whine, trying to press into the white grounder. He didn't get very far, being pinned under the heavier frame.

Striker's wings twitched in a manner that hinted Thorn probably wouldn't be getting too much recharge that night and Thorn's field answered with pleasurable anticipation.

Spurt after spurt of hot transfluid exploded across Wing's abdominal plates before Drift sank down, sated for the moment. Gradually his attention returned to his surroundings as the steam stopped curling from his frame meeting the atmospheric water.

He reached for his cube and grabbed Wing's instead. With a gulp of the Seeker high grade he shuddered, purring as the intense energon hit his systems.

The white jet tried for a frustrated growl, but his voice was higher than usual and it sounded just too cute to be at all threatening. Even his glare looked more like a pout.

"Evil," Striker murmured to himself, chuckling softly as he watched his creator.

"Very," Thorn agreed, watching Drift roll up to his knees and settle on the cushions, leaving a messy and unsatisfied Wing sprawled on the ground in front of him.

"Striker," bright ice blue optics focused on his creation. "What's the worst thing you've done that I _don't_ know about."

The young jet weighed his options carefully. Get in trouble for doing something stupid, or suffer through another of his creator's dares... Decisions, decisions.

Grumbling to himself, Wing swiped his cube back from Drift, returning to his own pile of cushions.

"Drink. You didn't when you were under me," Drift told his mate as he reclaimed his own cube. That one drink of Wing's was equal to at least a full cube of his own and he was very much feeling the effects.

Wing stuck his glossa out at his mate, taking a gulp from the cube.

Striker's wings settled close to his body. "It was me who rigged that booby trap, the one that dumped pink paint on Dai Atlas right before that big official ceremony opening the new spaceport he had to oversee." He cringed a bit, not looking at his creators, but he could feel the _shock-mirth_ in Thorn's field.

Drift blinked, then burst out laughing.

Wing stared at his creation, then echoed his mate's laughter, almost dropping his cube. "That was _you_?" The white jet curled up, wings twitching with amusement. "Don't worry; I won't tell him."

Striker relaxed slightly, turning to look up at Thorn. "Have you pulled any good pranks in the Citadel?"

Wing's laughter doubled. "Oh Primus has he!"

Thorn twitched his wings at the junior Knight before shaking his helm and chuckling. "Who do you think taught Wing?"

The young white and red jet's slag-eating grin made a reappearance. "You'll have to give me some tips, then," he purred to his lover, resettling on Thorn's lap.

"Of course," Thorn chuckled after a gulp of energon. "Just remember that they _know_ my style, and Wing's. They'll know who gave you a prank if you match them, and I won't take the fall for you. Wing, my dear," he looked over at his long ago lover. "What is Drift better at than I am?"

"I can get into trouble well enough on my own, thank you," Striker replied. "And I can pick GoldenRod's processor, since the head honchos don't know his style."

The white jet contemplated that for a long moment. "Winding me up and leaving me hanging," he finally replied, poking his mate in the leg.

"You started it," Drift repeated with a smirk, reaching over to steal Wing's energon again and pouring half of it into his cube to mix with his high grade.

"Hey!" Wing pounced. "That's mine!"

"It's _good_ " Drift countered, handing the nearly empty cube back.

Striker shook his helm. "He never grew up, did he?" he mused, looking up at Thorn.

"Nope," the black jet chuckled as he reached for a new cube of jet highgrade for himself and one for Striker. Then he tossed a sealed cube at Wing.

Wing caught the cube, settling back. "I almost pity you the hangover you're going to have in the morning," he informed his mate.

"Didn't think so." Striker took a long sip of his high grade, leaning back against warm black armor to see what was going to happen next.

"Mmm, Drift, what's the most overcharged you've ever been?" Thorn asked.

The grounder cocked his helm, thinking back. "Enough to end up in a clinic with critical system failures across the board."

Wing blinked. "How in Primus's name..."

Striker just stared at his creator.

"Eight or nine cubes of that, though not nearly the quality," he motioned to their cubes with the hand holding his own. "Took maybe a joor to down them. Came to with a medic screaming at me about trying to kill myself."

White wings and pinions flared. "I hope you've learned better since." Wing have his mate a _look_.

"Yes," Drift said quietly from behind his cube. "That was long before Gasket found me."

The bond carried the _reassurance-apology_ his voice didn't manage to.

His mate settled. "As long as you don't try a stunt like that again."

"Who's Gasket?" Striker asked in the silence as Drift debated what to ask whom.

"The first mecha who took me in," Drift said simply, though the depth of loss in his voice brought back stinging memories of when Wing fell for Thorn. "Taught me how to take care of myself on the streets. He was why I learned I have the gift for violence."

Striker pressed closer to his lover, feeling the emotions flickering through the black mech's field even as his own were in turmoil. He _knew_ his creator had had a difficult existence before he met Wing, but he had always respected Drift's quiet desire not to speak of those times. It was one of the few ways to turn Drift's mood dour in a sparkbeat, and frequently resulted in him drinking himself into recharge.

Wing sidled closer to Drift, pressing his shoulder against his mate's leg, dearly praying that tonight and the game would make it easier to move on this time.

"Thorn, have you ever been afraid?" Drift's ice blue optics locked on his creation's suitor.

Striker shifted on Thorn's lap, looking up at the black mech. He waited for the answer, his audial spikes twitching.

"A few times," he inclined his helm, taking the wording as permission not to go into details.

"Thorn..." Drift's warning growl was enough to drop golden wings.

"Fine," Thorn grumbled and took a long drink of his high grade. He _still_ shied away from the memory. "Not something I expect you'll understand. I had a penance as an Initiate ..." he shuddered, his wings pulling tight against his back. "My wings and turbines were shredded for a full vorn."

Striker's wings clamped close to his back reflexively, shivering from tips to bases in sympathetic reaction. He pressed closer to Thorn, reaching around to touch one of the black mech's wings gently. Thorn leaned into the contact, forcing his wings to unfold slowly into his lover's touch.

Wing didn't fair much better, shuddering in sympathy. "That's a _long_ time. What did you _do_?"

"You have to wait your turn," Drift spoke up. He may not understand fully, but he'd been bonded to Wing long enough to have some grasp of the terror involved in not being able to fly.

With a nod Thorn forced himself to consider his options. "Lover, what have you been most afraid to tell me?"

Striker continued to stroke his lover's wings, kneading the golden metal gently. "How much I love you," he admitted, nuzzling the black mech's jaw and returning the kiss Thorn initiated. After a moment, he looked over at Wing. "How much trouble did you get into when you were my age?"

Wing chuckled. "Every kind of trouble you can think of. I drove my creators _insane_. And I had fun the entire time I was doing it." He ruffled his own wings, splaying one out to poke at Drift's leg, looking at Thorn. "What did you _do_ , to be grounded for that long?"

"Pride," the black mech sighed, leaning into the comfort of his lover. "I was too proud of my wings, of being a flier. Despite all efforts, I still looked down on grounders. It was their last effort to civilize me."

Striker made a soft sound in the back of his throat. "Seems like a pretty vicious way to go about it." He pressed himself against Thorn, continuing to stroke his dark lover's golden wings as they unfolded the rest of the way.

Wing winced. "Ouch..."

"Yeah, ouch," Thorn nodded. "It worked." He focused on Striker. "It was the final effort. What happened when all the nicer methods failed. I was so very proud of my wings."

"That's one problem I never had, being raised by a grounder." Striker flicked his wings at Drift. "I shudder to think what he might have done to me if I'd ever behaved like that... Still proud to be a flier, though."

"That's easy. Beat the idea out of you," Drift snorted, not _looking_ nearly as overcharged as he was. "You can fly, but you can't take a beating."

"You'll have to catch me first," Striker pointed out, flaring his wings, then settling them close to his back again.

"As if _that's_ hard," Drift's laughter was more a bark. "Or are you forgetting _why_ you stopped bothering to run when I was on capture duty?"

"Are you referring to his short legs before he started flying, or the imaginative use of netting afterward?" Wing asked his mate, snorting as he picked up his cube.

"The nets, stun-blaster and generally trapping the entire Citadel," Drift smirked.

"You really did that, used a blaster on your creation?" Thorn looked stunned himself.

"Of course," Drift chuckled, taking another long drink of his mixed high grade. "Taught him to dodge, but still not well enough."

"When a grounder is set to catch a flier, they get _really creative_ ," Striker told Thorn. "They have the still shots to prove it."

"You've still got the auto-recharge protocol I installed," Drift smirked. "When all else failed, you'd set yourself down."

Striker glared at his creator. "I think it's about time to get rid of that."

"But you landed in the most _interesting_ of positions and places," Drift purred, his look nearly malicious if it wasn't for the deep affection he felt for the mech he was teasing. "Though I suppose it won't matter much anymore. You're old enough for the rifle."

Striker pressed closer to Thorn, still glaring at Drift. "You are evil."

"I'm soft," Drift sneered back, though there was no real malice there. "Been soft since before you were created."

"You're still evil," Striker retorted teasingly.

Wing just laughed at the both of them while Thorn shook his helm.

"You're all crazy," the black jet laughed, earning an evil glare from Drift that completely failed.

"You're just noticing this?" Wing chuckled, poking Drift's leg with a wingtip, quickly withdrawing the appendage before his mate could grab it.

"Oh, I knew, but this is more than usual," Thorn snickered. "Who's turn is it anyway?"

"Drift's," Wing supplied.

"Right," the grounder took a more moderate drink of his potent mix. "Wing, my lovely..." his voice trailed off as his processors lost track of what he was thinking. "Ready to send the young lovers away?" he leaned over, his field crackling with excess energy and desire enough to nearly knock Wing over.

The white jet's wings and pinions flared suggestively. "Oh yes," he purred in response, making a shooing gesture at Striker and Thorn.

"You mean we don't get to watch this time?" Striker mock-pouted, sliding off Thorn's lap reluctantly.

"If you need the ideas, you're welcome to stay," Drift smirked at his creation even as he pulled Wing into his lap and kissed him mercilessly as his hands moved along white plating.

Wing all but pounced on his mate, returning the kiss fiercely.

The white and red jet snorted, looking at his own partner. "What do you think? Stay and watch them, or go have some fun ourselves?" He fluttered his wings at Thorn.

"As incredible a show as I know they make, I'd rather enjoy you," Thorn purred and stood to pull his mate close for a kiss.

Drift waved them away without shifting his attention from his lover.

"Sounds good to me," Striker purred, returning the kiss, then tugging the black mech toward the door.

When the door closed, Drift's manner shifted dramatically. The arrogance, the aggression and humor-anger melted away. "Take me?" he murmured softly, offering as well as asking, their bond overflowing with a very private need to be reminded that submission could be _good_.

The white jet purred into the kiss, shifting over his mate. _Love-agreement_ came through their bond as Wing shifted so that he knelt between Drift's legs, his hands stroking down the white grounder's body.

With a soft, need-fill moan Drift arched up against his lover's hands. Both his interface covers slid opened, offering his mate anything Wing wanted.

The white jet chirred, his fingers gliding over white plating to stroke along the length of Drift's spike, dragging lightly over the nodes. Leaning down, Wing nipped and kissed at his mate's throat and upper chest, working his way back to the white grounder's lips.

Drift's field flooded with arousal, desire, _need_ for his mate. Their bond widened to its full extent, a display of trust in and of itself, to show Wing just how much he mattered to Drift, how much he desired, trusted, _needed_ him.

Pure love echoed back at Drift from Wing's field and through their bond. The jet's lips brushed across Drift's, his glossa darting out to brush over the grounder's lower lip. Wing wrapped his hand around Drift's spike, stroking and kneading along its length. White hips jerked into stroke, nearly dragging a keen from Drift's vocalizer as he parted his lips, offering Wing dominance in every way he knew how.

It felt _good_ , so unlike the bulk of his existence.

Chirr becoming purr, Wing captured Drift's lips in a fiery kiss. Ignoring his own spike for the moment, the white jet worked his mate's spike with one hand, the other gliding over sleek armor, unerringly going for all the most sensitive spots.

A deep, resonant moan escaped Drift as he thrust into the hand on his spike, welcomed the glossa into his mouth and ran his hands along Wing's back, stroking the Great Sword's channel and fasteners. His charge building quickly, a pulse crossed their bond, a query if he was to overload to this.

Playfulness resonated down the bond, from Wing to Drift. The jet leaned in, nacelles revving as he pressed them against Drift's spaulders, sending waves of vibration through Drift's sensor net. A black palm rubbed over the tip of Drift's spike, then down the underside, the pad of the jet's thumb flirting with the sensor-rich tip.

It was all Drift could take. With a howl that was as much scream as roar Drift's frame arched upward, the first spurt of transfluid erupting against Wing's palm.

Wing watched with bright optics, continuing to stroke white armor, engines revving high as his love surrendered all control to the pleasure of overload, and by extension, to Wing. Lifting his transfluid-covered hand, he made a show of licking the silvery fluid off his fingers, savoring the taste. His optics remained on Drift as the grounder cycled down enough to focus, at least marginally.

White wings fluttered out, the silver designs on them glittering. Grinning brightly, Wing lightly ran one fingertip down Drift's chassis, skirting his spike, sliding lower to rub against the white grounder's valve cover. It slid open immediately and Drift rocked shakily into the touch, still recovering from his first overload.

A low, soft wine of need and desire was torn from Drift's vocalizer as he twitched and arched to display himself, offer himself, silently beg for anything Wing would gift him with.

Wing's spike cover popped open, his spike pressurizing. Leaning down, Wing captured Drift's lips in a kiss, slipping his finger into the offered valve. A light fingertip stroked over the sensor-rich platelets surrounding the entrance before slipping inside, finding and stroking a lubricant slicked sensor node. Slender wings fluttered invitingly when Drift bucked hard into the touch, another pleading whine escaping him.

Yes, please, fill me, _take_ me ... even without being spoken, the need roared through their bond and Drift's field unhindered and unashamed.

The jet trilled softly, dragging his fingertip lightly down the lining of Drift's valve, over the sensor nodes, as he withdrew it. Licking lubricant from his hand as he shifted position, he rubbed the tip of his spike against the platelets teasingly before pushing past them, wings trembling slightly as he sheathed his spike fully.

Under him Drift moaned and trembled, spreading his legs further to welcome Wing even more fully. His frame and field were full of pleasure, enjoying being full and the rarely stimulated valve lining stretched. It felt _so_ good, physically and emotionally.

Wing leaned down, pressing his forehelm against Drift's, the heavy nasals of their helms touching. _Warmth_ flowed along their bond, a complex mixture of _love-assurance-trust_. His hips moved against Drift's, settling into a fast rhythm. His bonded's spike was caught between their bodies, rubbing against the white jet's abdominal armor.

A whine escaped Drift that modulated into a moaning keen as he drove his hips into his mate's thrusts, their vents puffed air into the other's faceplates as they held their forehelms together. Drift's arms wrapped around his love, holding him close as his chest plates unlocked, then began to part in a wordless plea for _more_.

Wing's chestplates parted, complex armor folding out of the way to reveal the orange-tinted golden light of his spark, already reaching out for its other half. Threads of energy trailed over Drift's armor and circuitry, reaching out to stroke his spark chamber as if coaxing the red orb to reveal itself when it was reaching out far more aggressively than Wing's own. The jet's hips never faltered in their rhythm, Wing shifting ever so slightly to increase the friction against his mate's spike.

Emotions flooded the jet far more intensely than their bond hinted at, and far more clearly. Uncertainty, possessiveness he wasn't sure what to do with, violent desires to keep and kill that had no acceptable outlet.

The current of emotions left Wing reeling briefly before he got his mental feet back under him, reaching out to wrap himself around his mate. It had been a _long_ time since Drift had been so unsettled. ~Every creator has to deal with this,~ the white jet crooned. ~He will still be _ours_. Our family will just be getting bigger.~

~I still want to strangle him,~ Drift said mournfully, unsettled by how much it shook his training as a Knight.

~And now you know why my creators were giving you the 'evil optic' while we were courting,~ Wing replied. ~It's normal. As long as you don't actually _act_ on it.~

~More than the glaring at least,~ Drift chuckled weakly before a full-frame shudder of the building overload took him.

Wing chuckled. ~Glaring is fine; that's normal. Just no taking swipes at him.~ The jet let out a moan, picking up the pace, his own overload building.

~Unless he hurts Striker,~ Drift growled into a deep moan, his body trembling and right on the edge of overload.

~I'd like to think Thorn knows better,~ the jet purred, shifting his hips to rub his spike against another sensor node.

With a roaring scream Drift's hips slammed up against Wing's, his valve calipers tightening fully around the spike inside him as pleasure flared out of control. Energy cascaded through his systems, reaching out to Wing along frame and spark.

Drift's overload set off Wing's, the jet's keen nearing the level of a shriek, breaking into static at the end. His wings flared wide, charge snapping and crackling over them, leaping off onto Drift. Transfluid filled the white grounder's valve as his spike was milked relentlessly.

Their sparks rejoiced, merged into a single huge orange orb, as completely as one as they could ever be.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Fandom** : Transformers IDW  
>  **Author** : gatekat, ultrarodimus on LJ  
>  **Pairing** : Drift/Wing, Striker/Thorn  
>  **Rating** : NC-17 mech/mech  
>  **Codes** : AU, Slash, Sticky, First Time, Masturbation  
>  **Summary** : Striker, first creation of Drift and Wing, has finally gotten his mechling upgrades and with them, his interface equipment and protocols. Now he just has to decide who will show him what that really means.  
>  **Disclaimer** : The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal 290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
>  **Notes** : Striker is Drift/Wing's first creation in _Hunters from the Light_ , and this story is set in the same 'verse, but well after that story ends.  
> Thorn is the creation of [labrum](http://www.furaffinity.com/user/labrum)/[kusuriuri/](https://www.furaffinity.net/user/kusuriuri)/[switchxtrick](http://www.switchxtrick.deviantart.com)  
> Striker: <http://www.img62.imageshack.us/img62/7862/strikerrecolor.png>  
> Thorn: <http://www.switchxtrick.deviantart.com/art/Thorn-275112261>  
> Together: <http://www.img341.imageshack.us/img341/3351/ububu.png>


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